


catch your eye

by tinyfingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Slow Burn, coffee fic, gentle Jaime, mentions of sickness and death in chapter 7, photography fic, protective friends, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 27,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyfingers/pseuds/tinyfingers
Summary: mod AU, with photographer!Jaime and barista!Brienne.sort of a meet-cute, as Jaime convinces Brienne to be his muse, and they bond over loss, beauty, and what it means to love.warning: mentions of main characters dealing with death of loved ones





	1. Jaime I

He walks - drags his feet, really - into the cafe he's been to for the last three years of his life. It's just around the corner from his apartment, and two streets from his office, so _it makes sense_. It's for the same reason that he always orders a long black.

It's simple, balanced, and convenient. No fuss about having milk steamed to the wrong temperature, no decision needed about the type of milk and getting the right weight to it. 

A long black is reliable, he always tells his brother, but Tyrion tells him he's just an _old bore_. 

Which he probably is. 

Jaime spends most of his days either on the streets or in his home studio - even though he'd rather be spending most of that editing time shooting - and it's only on weekends that he deigns to join Tyrion and Bronn at the bar that the latter opened six months ago. 

It had started as a silly hobby when he was seven, when his mother handed him a small film compact and a roll of film. 

"What should I take pictures of?" he had asked her, his hands holding the camera too-firmly. She'd only smiled softly, and told him that it didn't matter, as long as it was something Jaime thought was beautiful and worth remembering. 

So he did: With 34 shots (two of them were wasted because he clicked the shutter without realising), he took more than 10 each of Cersei and Tyrion, only a baby then, and the rest of the toys in Tyrion's cot. 

Never mind that most adults looked at Tyrion pityingly, with his slightly-too-large head for his frame, and mismatched eyes, knowing he'd never be as beautiful as his older siblings, Tywin's golden twins. 

Tyrion was always beautiful to him. 

But as he grew older, Jaime started shying away from human subjects and moved towards the streets and architecture - trying to capture lines in the ways they would dance across his eyes when the headlights and streetlamps flashed across them; the way the glass panels would reflect the sunlight. 

It had been a while since he had a model capture his attention and made him want to capture the human movement - the last was Cersei's daughter, Myrcella, who had a playful grace about her, and Jaime had spent an entire Christmas documenting the way she would tiptoe in an array of little shoes which Cersei and Robert had spoiled her with. 

But now that Cersei and Robert had moved to a different country and were an eight-hour flight away, so was his favourite muse. 

Until he sees _her_. 

Jaime hadn't believed Bronn when he told him that his favourite cafe - Rath 6, after its address - had hired a new barista who was "absolutely stunning". They never did have the same taste in women. His dark-haired friend preferred his women curvy and honey-tongued, while Jaime... well, he didn't quite have a type, since he was too busy "pining over the women in pictures past", as Tyrion put it. 

He'd dated fleetingly, but none of his dates lasted past the first month. None of them saw him as he was, he'd argued when Tyrion and Bronn told him he was being too picky, all they saw was a handsome man with a camera. They didn't see his ideas nor his voice, which made them a waste of time as far as he was concerned. 

But this woman - she was too tall to still be a girl, surely - was stunning indeed. 

Jaime can't help but snap a few shots as he stands by the door. Her back is turned, slightly hunched over as she pours the steamed milk carefully into the ceramic and takeaway cups. He adjusts the shadow balance, wanting to capture the way the light falls across her muscled shoulders, and marvels at the way her wrist twists deftly with every new cup she holds in her off-hand. Her arms are thick and freckled, her skin the colour of almond milk, nowhere close to dainty, but there is a _grace_ which she moves with that Jaime can't help but be completely captured by. 

And then she turns, and meets his gaze, because he's the only person who comes in and takes 10 minutes to place an order. 

He has been doing it for so long that he doesn't stop to consider that it's rude to snap a shot before responding to her smile. 

Her face twists into an awkward grimace when she hears the shutter click, and she turns her head in the way someone hates to be photographed would. But Jaime takes another shot, because she's turned towards the sunlight and her eyes are even more beautiful from this angle. 

Jaime tucks his camera away this time, and walks towards the counter bashfully. 

"Sorry, it was a good scene," he mutters, not quite explaining himself, but he guesses that she isn't waiting for one either. 

"Can I get you a coffee? Tea?" She says softly, still recoiling from his unusual behaviour. 

"I'll have a flat white." 


	2. Jaime II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime can't stop thinking about her and the way she moves.

He doesn’t realise that he didn’t order his usual long black until one of the usual baristas, a stuttering boy who looks barely old enough to be working, asks him if he had received the wrong order. 

Jaime looks down at his takeaway cup, and shrugs. “I’ll be fine, Podrick, but thank you anyway.” 

It’s been at least ten years since he last had a coffee with milk, he realises. 

He sips it tentatively, and it’s almost  _ weird _ when he doesn’t feel disgusted by the heavier mouthfeel of the flat white. He’s used to the acidity of a long black, only slightly tempered by the hot water, and was never a huge fan of how the milkiness would weigh on the back of his tongue. 

But perhaps this new barista has skills which others before her didn’t. 

Perhaps the beans just lend themselves better to a white coffee, he banters with himself. 

Or probably, it’s just because she has the prettiest eyes. 

Jaime gives her a slight nod of acknowledgment as he leaves the cafe, but she’s still eyeing him somewhat suspiciously, and he wonders if the sheepishness he feels has crept onto his face. 

He can’t help but think about the way her hands were moving as she made his coffee, the way she swirled the little metal jug of steaming milk, tapping it gently against the counter, and the focus in her very-blue eyes when she was levelling the coffee grounds. 

He’d never seen someone of her frame, of her magnificence. 

He’s still thinking about the slight ripple in her forearms when he walks into the glass door of his office, smacking his nose into the panel. 

He’s long drained the coffee in his cup, and the stiff corrugated paper cup has crumpled in his large, worn hands. Which is probably a good thing, since he would have spilled all the coffee on the carpeted floor and have to clean it up otherwise. 

“What’s got into your head?” Tyrion’s familiar drawl echoes behind him, and Jaime spins around, not realising that his brother had been standing behind him while he’d been unlocking the door. 

Jaime sighs, and wordlessly sinks into the couch - one of only three seats in his small studio cum office. 

Tyrion steps over the tangle of wires - Jaime always left the lighting rigs in place, and the wires ran across the floors without much care given to them - and eyes his brother as he settles into the armchair across. 

“I think I found my muse.” Jaime mutters, glancing briefly at Tyrion before flicking through the shots that he had taken earlier. 

“Is she more beautiful than Cersei?” The jibe is more of a tease than a snipe, but Jaime flinches inadvertently anyway. 

_ He’d made the mistake - once - of telling Tyrion, as an eighteen-year-old, that he would never be able to find a model quite as beautiful as his sister, and for that reason, she would be the only woman he’d photograph. But it was a childish remark, and he’d found new subjects, and more importantly - he’d realised that it wasn’t just beauty that he wanted to photograph.  _

“It’s the new barista Bronn talked about. He was right. She is stunning.” 

“Ah.” 

Jaime glares at his brother, annoyed by the familiarity of his tone. Tyrion’s smirking, and he quickly realises that Bronn probably wasn’t alone when he came to the conclusion that the barista was ‘stunning’. 

“I didn’t know you liked them tall. Did you ever date anyone that tall? She’s definitely very blonde.”

Jaime ignores him, but continues looking through the few shots he had taken earlier. There’s one of her side profile - and he sees her very prominent features which most would consider unrefined, but also her freckled jaw which is angled in an  _ intriguing _ way. 

Her lips are thick and very red, almost like she had been biting them just a moment earlier, and her crooked nose is very apparent. 

He quickly transfers some of the photos to his computer, and lines a few up on his screens: a variety of angles, none of them quite showing her whole front profile apart from the very last one. 

She looks shocked, but not unhappy; her mouth slightly agape and her nose more obviously crooked than it looks in the side profiles. But Jaime finds himself fixated on her eyebrows - they’re as blonde as her straw-coloured hair, and over-filled, like much of her is. They’re conventionally out of shape, but there’s an arch in her left eyebrow that mirrors the shape of her eyes, and Jaime can’t help but zoom in and wonder if there was something he could do with it - like a series; he hasn’t done one of those in a while. 

“You’re getting into one of those moods, aren’t you, brother.” Tyrion laughs softly, and swigs from the little hip flask that he always has on him. He pats Jaime softly on the shoulder, and stands up to leave. 

“Be careful,” he says, semi-seriously, even though his eyes have a playful sparkle to them.

Jaime knows he is spiralling - into that mood he gets into when he’s excited about a project and it’s been a while since he’s felt this way. The last time was when he was in the fringe neighbourhoods in Berlin and was tailing a group of youths, trying to capture the freedom in their movement. 

It had been one of the best times of his life - those three months he had spent in Berlin, waking up at five in the morning and only retreating to his dingy rented room close to midnight, and there were just thirty good photos from that series, but it was one of his best exhibitions. 

He knows this could be as good as that, it could be better, and he’s excited. 

To have found a new muse, someone as capturing as her, with such unique features and such smoothness in the way she carried herself, there was a certain flow he wonders if he could replicate in his photos. 

So he runs out of his studio, leaving his wallet behind and only grabbing his phone and camera, barely locking the door behind him. 

He’s breathless when he gets to the cafe, even though it’s just two streets, and for a moment it crosses his mind that her shift might already be over, because he doesn’t see her behind the counter. 

“Another coffee for you?” Her voice - warm and buttery - comes up behind him, and Jaime turns around slowly, against his instinct (he would have spun around otherwise). 

“Hi, I’m Jaime,” he blurts, losing himself momentarily in her bright eyes. 

“I’d like another flat white, and will you be my muse?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll eventually get to Jaime's reputation, but for now - it is just Jaime.


	3. Brienne I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making coffee is easy for Brienne, and seeing handsome men like a particular golden lion makes the job easier.

It’s been nearly a week since she started work at the cafe, but it’s the first time she’s going to be on the morning shift - and the first time she’d be dealing with the grumpy early crowd rather than the more easy-going, relaxed afternoon cafe-goers. 

Which is fine, Brienne tells herself as she looks at her reflection in the small mirror of the cafe washroom. The morning shift pays slightly better - it’s an extra two dragons per hour, and as a poor student in the city, it works out to almost an extra eighty dragons a week. 

Plus she didn’t really have much of a choice. Most of her classes this semester are in the afternoons, and the cafe owner Catelyn was nice enough to let her work half shifts on the days that she has morning lectures. 

What she doesn’t realise is just how crowded the cafe gets in the mornings. There are another two coffee stops within a one-km radius, but after trying hand brews from both of them, she realised that there was a reason why Rath 6 was the only one overflowing with customers at the morning peak. 

Most of them are students or office workers, although there are the occasional mums who have obviously just finished their morning run. Or yoga. One of her co-workers, Catelyn’s older daughter Sansa, tells her that there are quite a few handsome regulars, most of them usually in sharp suits on the weekdays, and that is a good thing to look forward to, especially on dreary mornings. 

But it’s not a man in a suit which catches her eye two hours into the shift. 

He’s dressed simply, in a snug maroon tee and dark jeans, with a camera in his right hand and a small messenger bag slung across his shoulder. HIs hair is golden - how is it so shiny? - long and slightly floppy, but when he flips the strands from his face she sees that his eyes are a sparkling sea-green. 

She realises belatedly that he’s been standing at the door for a while and taken several shots - of her? It can’t be, she tells herself - and he looks right at her, his gaze soft and somehow  _ knowing _ . 

Then he raises his camera, and takes a shot.

She frowns, because it’s a small space and there’s no one at the counter to obscure his view of her - all six feet three of her, with coffee grounds on her apron, ugly features and messy hair, all of it. 

Brienne turns her head, even though she knows she’s too late, he’d have taken a shot of her by now. 

_ He must have thought that he’s never seen anyone quite so ugly, what a sight it must be, a monstrosity to document _ . 

But she stupidly turns towards the side which is facing the sun, and can’t help but squint as the light shines into her eyes. 

She can’t help but think about the last time she’d had photos taken of her like this - it was after one of her football practices, and Ron Connington and his posse appeared in front of her as she was walking into the canteen. 

_ “Ah, it’s Brienne the Beauty! Why, aren’t you muddy today, Beauty?”  _

_ “I hear that the circus is recruiting a new giant for their show, you should really try out for it, Tarth, I heard they do pay a small fortune for the monstrous.”  _

They’d printed the photos and put them up outside every toilet in their school. The rest of the students, stupid teenagers that they were, had the good sense to spread it on social media, and #BriennetheBeauty had ended up as a Twitter trend, even if just for a few hours.

Her form teacher, Mr Tarly, had suggested that she take leave from school for the week - to let things die down and lay low for a bit, even insinuating that it was her fault that Ron and the other guys had taken photos of her and put them all over school. 

But her father had insisted that she could not “let the bullies have their way”, and made sure she kept up a perfect attendance for the rest of term, even on one day when her runny nose was particularly awful. 

“Sorry, it was a good scene,” a soft mumble interrupts her thoughts, and Brienne looks up to realise that it’s the photographer guy who has come to the counter. 

She wants to ask - what made a good scene - but she knows the answer is probably nothing pleasant, and bites back her question.  _ Words are wind _ , her father had always said, and she tries to remind herself of it, as she so often does when people whisper and gawk at her. 

Instead, she tries to hide her shock, and replies, even quieter than he was. "Can I get you a coffee? Tea?" 

He smiles, revealing a neat row of  _ perfectly-shaped _ teeth, his left hand running casually through his hair. “I’ll have a flat white.” 

She nods, and types quickly into the register before gesturing to the contactless terminal, and turns around to grind a fresh batch of coffee for his flat white. 

Making coffee is by far the easiest part of the job, Brienne’s learned, it’s the cleaning which is the most troublesome and collecting payment, especially when they involve cash, can be a hassle when the cafe’s crowded. 

Steaming the milk and getting just the right amount of swirl into the milk-based coffees seems almost second nature to her at this point. 

She hopes she’s not imagining things when he snaps more photos while she’s preparing his flat white, although she’s pretty sure that the clicks are from his shutter and not Podrick’s clacky shoes. 

He grins at her again when she passes him his takeaway cup, and  _ did his hand linger longer than he needed to _ ?

It isn’t until during their mid-morning break that Podrick tells him that photographer guy is a regular at the cafe, and he’s a real professional, not a tourist with an oversized camera. 

“He usually gets a long black or a hand brew… it’s the first time he’s ever gotten anything with milk in it, well, at least not in the last y-year or so. Weird, but he does tip s-sometimes, and he’s held a couple of ex-exhibitions here. He’s n-nice.” 

Brienne wants to ask more, wants to know more about this photographer guy - who is he? Why was he taking photos of me? What is he going to do with those? For his  _ ugly things _ series? 

But as nice as Podrick is, it’s not the kind of conversation she can have with him, and she’s keen not to seem too eager about a man too pretty to be anything but a passing stranger to admire. 

She can’t help thinking about how shiny his hair was, and how beautiful his eyes were - they were sea-green when she first looked at him, but turned a little darker into a forest gleam when he was collecting his coffee. 

_ Well, he’s a regular, so I guess I’d be seeing him around,  _ she thinks to herself. 

Except she isn’t counting on seeing him so  _ soon _ . 

It’s not long after her morning break that he’s back in the cafe, looking a little breathless and flushed, his camera firmly gripped in his right hand again and a phone in his left. 

She’s standing behind him, but she doesn’t need to see his handsome features to know it’s  _ him  _ \- his maroon shirt is tight enough to show the ripple of his lats, and  _ no one  _ has hair that perfectly glossy. 

“Another coffee for you?” she lets slip. 

He turns around slowly, in perfect balance, Brienne notices, a sign that he’d probably done some sports himself,  _ basketball? Football?  _

“Hi, I’m Jaime,” he says hurriedly, biting his lip slightly as he introduces himself,  _ and does he look a little bashful himself _ ?

“I’d like another flat white, and will you be my muse?”

She laughs - not a soft chuckle, but one of her slightly embarrassing choked laughs - and stares at him. 

“Sure, I’ll get you the flat white, but what?”

"Be my muse. I'm a photographer." He lifts his right hand and gestures vaguely at his camera, and shrugs as if it's a perfectly normal request he's making. 

"I can see that," she replies curtly, and waves her hand at the card terminal before she gets to his coffee. 

_What does he mean, be his muse? What could this Jaime want? It's a beautiful name, Jaime - why does it sound so familiar? _   


She tries to ignore his request, but Jaime's already muttering away, half to himself and almost hopeful in the way he's describing his concept to her. 

"It's been a long time since I've... had ideas like this, to shoot someone, and I know it's an odd request, I hope this is not weird, but of course it is. I'd pay you - it wouldn't be a volunteer thing, we can work something out. But I'd love to take your pictures, if you'd have me. I usually do street shots, but we could do a series of you making coffee, I'm sure Catelyn wouldn't mind, it'd be great for an exhibition here." He pauses for a moment, looking around the shop, seemingly for inspiration, and Brienne narrows her eyes as he gestures with his hands excitedly. 

He takes a few shots of the counter along the far end, and glances at his camera screen, smiling to himself. 

"And we could do a few of you picking out coffee beans at the counter, the irregularity of the beans would be a nice contrast against the wood grain, and maybe some disassembled equipment, but yes." 

She hands him his coffee, and is more amused than disturbed by his exuberance. Brienne doesn't reply him - doesn't quite know what kind of response he's expecting, or what she could even say, honestly - and passes him a tissue when he nearly spills his coffee in his excitement. 

"I'm serious. Wait, you haven't told me your name. I'm Jaime, but I think I already said that. I'm Jaime Lannister."

"You're the Kingslayer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to write Brienne a little different - she's more introspective, and while Jaime's observant, his observations are more about movement and physical appearances, while Brienne's observations reveal her thoughts in a more intimate manner. Let me know how this fic is for you, and thank you for all the encouragement. It's almost JB week!


	4. Brienne II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She feels embarrassed to even suggest that Jaime wants to take photographs of her, all these blunt and uncouth features she wears, and she tries to mask that.

She’d first heard about Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, when she was in elementary school. He wasn’t a famous photographer then, but was better known for playing quarterback for Casterly University. 

A pro-style QB, he had one of the best throwing forms in the league, but was no slouch at the running game either. Brienne had been a fan from his sophomore year, when he first took over the starting job from the graduated Arthur Dayne, one of Casterly’s finest players in their storied history. 

But Lannister was in his senior year when Casterly played Kings College. During one of the plays, he’d rammed his elbow right into Aerys Targaryen’s neck. A terrible accident, the papers had written it as, and it was what Casterly’s press said it was in several conferences that were held afterwards.

But Lannister’s actions had caused a freak injury - Aerys cracked several vertebrae at the base of his neck, and never quite recovered from the trauma of the accident, dying a few months later without much being reported by the press. 

Thereafter, he had earned the moniker of Kingslayer, and was banned from playing in the league for the rest of the year. Widely expected to turn professional, the highly-rated teenager disappeared from the scene. Brienne had nearly forgotten about the entire incident.  _ Until now _ . 

Jaime winces when she says the awful moniker - she hadn’t been a fan of it, and much of her had been certain that he had not intended to injure Aerys, but there were later rumours about how Aerys Targaryen had raped several of Jaime’s cousins, and it was revenge, not an accident. 

She doesn’t know what to make of it, even all these years later, she had been a mere child then, but even now as a 20-year-old,  _ it doesn’t feel right to decide.  _ But he had killed a man, whether he had intended to or not, so does that make him a murderer? A bad person? He never apologised for it in public, so maybe it  _ does _ , she thinks.

“It’s been a while since anyone called me that, I thought, time did its thing. So you’re a football fan, huh.” He murmurs, his thumb running over the buttons on his camera absent-mindedly. 

“Played it a little myself.”

“I don’t know if it changes things for you, knowing  _ that _ , and that I’m the same person, but I’m serious. What I said, I do want to work with you, I think it’ll be incredible. I could put together a concept file, and have my lawyer draw up a draft contract, you’ll be fairly paid for your work, I assure you of that.” 

He looks so earnest that Brienne feels  _ flattered _ and she wants to say yes - not because he’s Jaime Lannister, one of the best college football players to never go pro, but because he’s one of the only men who have paid her any positive attention, and then it occurs to her.  _ This is probably a joke _ .  _ He’s probably no different from Ron or Hyle or any of that lot, scumbags thinking that ugly women are good to make fun of _ .  _ Don’t give him a chance to do this, Brienne, you’re better than this _ . 

She can almost hear the echoes of _Brienne the Beauty_ and all the awful taunts that she endured for months on end, and flashes of Ron's smug face creep across her mind. Brienne shakes her head, and tries to focus, although the deep green of Jaime's eyes make it hard to do so.  


This could be a joke, she knows.

But she also knows that it could pay well - and for a moment she feels like a complete idiot and a sell-out for even considering it. This Jaime speaking to her doesn’t seem like a smarmy ass the way  _ they  _ had been, he’s a little nervous if anything, and very pretty, and she wants to believe him when he tries to tell that this could be a good thing. 

“I’ll think about it.” She finally says, pursing her lips slightly. His face falls just a little, but he nods knowingly. 

“I’ll have the papers drawn up anyway and I’ll bring them around tomorrow, you can have a look at those and decide. Promise me you’ll at least consider, I can’t explain just how much this would mean to me.”

He takes a paper napkin from the counter, and picks up a stray pen to scribble a series of numbers on it. “Here’s my number, if you want to know anything more, or just want to chat, you know, just call me. You haven’t told me your name.” He looks slightly bashful when he says the last bit, yammering away as he had the whole time. 

“I’m Brienne Tarth,” she regrets saying her last name as soon as it leaves her mouth, it sounds overly formal and he didn’t need to know her last name, now he’d be able to search her up and there goes her anonymity,  _ but he’d probably have just searched Brienne and ‘tall’ and it’d turn up all the hashtags.  _

“I don’t suppose you’d want to give me your contact number… but maybe an email? So I can send you some samples, I promise it won’t be spam.” It dawns on her that Jaime doesn’t realise just how overeager, and somewhat desperate, he seems, and she takes pity on him for a moment, even though she’s still on guard. 

So she writes it down for him, and he looks almost grateful when he folds the napkin and tucks it into his back pocket. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Brienne.” “Good day, Mr Lannister.” 

He shakes his head as he stands up to leave. “It’s Jaime, just call me Jaime.” 

Sansa pulls her arm to take her aside the moment Jaime leaves, and the pretty redhead’s expression is one of childish glee. 

“What did you talk about? He took so many pictures of you earlier, he’s always around here but he’s never taking photos of us, do you know him?” 

Brienne laughs softly at her excitement, and shakes her head. “He’s offering me work, I think, to…” She can’t quite bring herself to say model, and to borrow his  _ muse _ would roll off the tongue strange as well. 

“For one of his photography projects, I think,” she finishes, grimacing slightly as she says it. She doesn’t know Sansa all that well, but the girl is beautiful, and  _ what does someone looking like her know what it’s like to look like this _ ? She feels embarrassed to even suggest that Jaime wants to take photographs of  _ her _ , all these blunt and uncouth features she wears, and she tries to mask that, although she feels a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks. 

“That’s incredible, Brienne. He’s a brilliant photographer, you should see this exhibition he held last year, he took photographs of my neighbour, Mr Cassel, in the months before he, bless his soul, died from cancer. They were some of the most moving photos I’ve ever seen. Jaime’s work is truly wonderful, I’m sure it’ll be a great project. Are you going to do it?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.”


	5. Jaime III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know it’s presumptuous of me to say this before you’ve agreed to anything, but I think anything we work on together could be special too. 
> 
> I’d love to get to know you better and tell your story, and I hope you’ll give me a chance to do so."

_ “I’ll think about it,”  _ she said. Jaime thinks about her expression as she’d said it, slightly hesitant and understandably wary. 

She knew how they’d called him the Kingslayer, she must have read some of the awful reports about how he had caused Aerys’ death, not that he felt guilty for it, not really, since the Targaryen boy had been an asshole and deserved everything that he got. He hadn’t intended to  _ kill  _ him, of course, it was a bit of an accident, but he didn’t feel awful about it.

He still remembers the statement Tywin Lannister had given him to say the day after the news of Aerys’ death broke: “It was an accident, it was a terrible football clash, and I hope that his family can forgive me for it.” 

But he had tried to shed that, and against all of his greatest yearnings, agreed with his father when Tywin said that he should stop playing football. 

Looking back, it didn’t turn out too bad. He’d always enjoyed photography, he loved walking around the city with his camera in hand and trying to capture the expressions of the people along the roads and the moods of the different times of day, and he hadn’t quite considered pursuing it as his full-time job until football no longer was an option. 

Shortly after his mother was diagnosed with cancer, just a month after Jaime had graduated from college, she told him that he shouldn’t be burdened with the family business, and be free to pursue what he loved. 

So he did. Tywin was unhappy, but he had to relent when persuaded by his fading wife.  _ “He’ll never be happy working in the corporation, Tywin, Jaime’s not made for that. He’s always been a free soul, my little lion.”  _

His first real series had been titled “Goodbye” - a collection of portraits of Joanna Lannister, taken weekly. She had been reluctant initially, but agreed to it after Jaime had broken down watching her undergo her second chemotherapy session. “I want to have these to remember you by, when my memory starts to fail me, I want my grandchildren to know how beautiful and brave you were,” he told her. 

The third portrait he’d taken of her was the one they eventually used for her funeral, two years after she was diagnosed. It was taken in the gardens of the family home, in the middle of summer, when her favourite sunflowers were in bloom.

A year after her death, Jaime finally put together the series, although he never used any of them for an exhibition. It still hurt to look at them, to see how she had slowly worn away, grown weaker and paler, made more stark by the tones of black and white. 

But he printed every single one of those photographs. All eighty-nine of them. And on the back of each of them was a sentence that his mother had said to him, the words he wanted to remember her by.  _ Tell your children you love them every single day and night, tell them I love them, how much I want to know them. _

He hadn’t been sure that photography was something he would be able to live on - both financially and emotionally - but every time he considered something else, he realised that there would never be something he loved as much. And with every series he eventually printed and exhibited, he was reminded of how she had told him to be happy.  _ And this made him happy.  _

He wonders how Brienne’s childhood was - she must have been a child when he was still playing football - and knowing how difficult Tyrion’s school years were, her own couldn’t have been vastly different. Children were a cruel bunch, even if you were a good-natured, average-looking child; it would have been hell for someone plain-looking like her. Was she bullied? Was she teased by the petite girls in school? Did boys make fun of her for being too tall and too muscular? 

He knows he would have, when he was a boy. He had been an idiot, and children were mostly idiots. 

Jaime thinks about her broad shoulders and muscled limbs, thinks of how safe it would be to be wrapped in her arms; and it makes him think of all the embraces he had shared with his mother. When he was a young boy, and when Tyrion was a child - there was once when Tyrion had come home with bruises all over because someone had put him in a carton and a bunch of kids had kicked it about the classroom while the teacher was nowhere to be seen - Jaime had lost it completely and broken the window of one of the bullies’ houses. 

His mother had embraced him even then, told him he was the bravest boy, but to be brave meant that he had to protect Tyrion with love and not violence. 

She’d held him when he failed examination after examination, before they found out that he had mild dyslexia and algebra was particularly difficult. Told him he was still her  _ clever little lion _ , even though Tyrion was helping  _ him  _ with his homework by then. 

He misses that sort of embrace - it never felt quite right with the women he dated, it was not a warm hug, but always seemed like it was supposed to lead to something else, there was a sterileness to those relationships. It wasn’t the same with Tyrion, especially as they grew older. He used to hug Tommen before he put the boy to bed, when Cersei’s family was still living in the city, and the boy would cling a little too tight.  _ Like I was his rock.  _

Jaime tries not to sound  _ too  _ excited when Bronn asks him, knowingly, how the new barista at Rath 6 is. 

He tries to make it sound casual, when he mentions that he’s asking her to work with him and be a model for a series, but he can’t help a smile, and his friend knows him too well that he doesn’t just see her as a model. 

“I told you she was stunning, but I didn’t think you’d be so smitten, Lannister.” 

“She’s special, you know? I don’t want to scare her or creep her out, but I haven’t had so many ideas about one subject in the longest time, hell, I could do a series on her eyes alone. They’re fucking beautiful,” he blurts, six drinks later. 

He doesn’t remember all the shots that Bronn pours out for him, nor the snarky remarks that the man inevitably slides his way. How can he, when all he remembers is thinking about what Brienne’s favourite drink could be? 

Jaime’s still tipsy that night when he sketches out a few panels and pens down the ideas that he has for a series about  _ comfort  _ and  _ being safe _ . 

_ Comfort _ had always been a topic he wanted to explore but everything had felt distant and cold for the longest time, but he didn’t want to just lean on warm tones and soft textures to convey it - he wonders how he could portray  _ comfort _ with hard edges and uneven surfaces, and thinks about Brienne’s freckles - perhaps something to parallel those. 

So he draws, and thinks about some of the rough alleys on the outskirts of the city, and he knows that the softness in her eyes could easily be  _ comfort  _ enough, and he wonders if he’s overthinking it, but he wants to tell her story at the same time,  _ what is her story, who is Brienne Tarth, and what does she love? _

He picks out six photographs to send her - and pauses for a long while before deciding to include one of his mother. It’s of her in the car Jaime used to drive, the coupe Tywin had bought for him when he turned sixteen and got his licence, the same ride that Joanna said a boy had no business driving, but she loved riding in it with the windows down when he drove her to the countryside anyway. 

His email to Brienne is brief: 

_ Hi Brienne, it’s Jaime.  _

_ I know it’s an odd request, and I don’t usually go up to strangers the way I did today. You probably think I’m a weird person.  _

_ Most of these photos I’ve never shared with others.  _

_ But they’re special to me, and I know it’s presumptuous of me to say this before you’ve agreed to anything, but I think anything we work on together could be special too.  _

_ I’d love to get to know you better and tell your story, and I hope you’ll give me a chance to do so.  _

It’s four in the morning, and he’s too far gone to consider if his email is  _ too much _ , so he clicks send. 

It’s always going to be too much anyway. But she had been kind, hadn’t look irritated when he said he’d  _ see her tomorrow _ , and nodded ever-so-slightly when he told her to call him Jaime. 

_ See you tomorrow, Brienne,  _ he thinks to himself, as he lulls to a drunken slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry there's not much J/B interaction in this one, but I've always wanted to explore the idea of Jaime missing his mother, and I've taken liberties with this in this AU, and I hope it's alright. thanks for the encouragement, the flurry of new fics this week have been so inspiring and so hard to come after.


	6. Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess we have two idiots in love, and none of them the wiser.

He knows Jaime was gone from the moment he said he wanted the barista to be his muse. 

He knows his brother - Jaime’s nothing if not dedicated, and he has such an awful one-track mind. For the longest time there was nothing else in his life but football, then it was all about his art and his  _ work _ . 

Jaime had always talked about finding a muse - the best artists always had a muse, he said - but he had never managed to. At best, he had found subjects, people of interest, and models; but it was the first time that he had said so definitively that he had found his  _ muse _ . And he said it with such conviction that Tyrion knew better than to question his one-sided decision. 

“I didn’t know you liked them tall. Did you ever date anyone that tall? She’s definitely very blonde,” he teases, trying to lighten the mood and  _ hopefully _ distract his brother. 

When they were younger, Jaime had caught up in photographing their sister, and it did  _ such wonders  _ for Cersei’s ego. Granted, he was just eighteen and Cersei was objectively beautiful, and it was hard for him to build that kind of rapport they already had with a random model off a catalogue. His portraits of Cersei had been some of his best, until Jaime did the series with their mother -  _ and that was something else of its own _ . 

But Jaime is ignoring him now. Instead, he’s looking at the photographs that he’s taken, and Tyrion can’t help but try and peek at the monitor screens. 

He’d met Brienne the day before, with Bronn, when they’d dropped by Rath for an afternoon snack. She was hard to miss, impossibly tall with shockingly white-blonde hair. Bronn had done a double-take when they stepped into the cafe, since they’d gotten used to the slightly bleary-eyed Podrick and sometimes, Catelyn’s pretty daughter Sansa. 

“I’d bet she’s a feisty one,” Bronn said, all seriousness. But Brienne didn’t seem feisty when they talked to her, she seemed very mild-mannered and a little reticent to say the least. 

Tyrion tried to make small talk, but she avoided his gaze and seemed a little awkward in his presence, until he said: “You don’t have to look at me if it hurts your neck, you know. I’m Tyrion, Tyrion Lannister, I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. You must be new. I hope you make a good coffee, Podrick here makes a pretty mean hand brew, even if he gets lazy when it’s the late afternoons, don’t you, Pod? Is this new tall lady better than you?”

She blushes then, but there’s an undeniable competitive spirit in her wide eyes as she mumbles: “I’m pretty sure I make a better brew, but you can be the judge of that.” 

And she wasn’t kidding. She’s a bit more careful than Podrick, in the way she measures out the exact amount of ground coffee, and she keeps a watchful eye on the speed at which the water flows out of the gooseneck kettle and onto the perfectly spread out grounds. Podrick’s guesstimation looks very sloppy in comparison, even though the end result has never been too disappointing. 

She ignores Bronn’s advances, and just gives him the side-eye at one point when he tries to ask her out to his bar that evening for drinks, suggesting that “they could have a great night together”. 

“You’re not my type,” she eventually tells him, curtly, and shrugs when he asks her why. “I’d beat you in arm wrestling, hands down.” 

He doesn’t believe her, of course, and she readily takes him up on a challenge, handily throwing his good right hand onto the counter in a matter of seconds. She shrugs again, as Podrick and Sansa stifle their laughter. 

“She’s a real character, this barista. I like her.” Bronn declares, downing his double espresso like a shot, and glancing back at the counter, where the tall barista is very obviously avoiding his stares. “She’s very stunning. I bet Jaime would agree. She’s almost as tall as him, isn’t she?” 

“Taller, I reckon.” Tyrion looks at her, and winks ever-so-slightly, raising his cup of coffee to her in mock salute, and there’s a slight twinkle in her eyes as she nods in reply. “When you’re short, it’s a lot easier to gauge how tall people are. But you’re right, I’m sure my brother would agree. He’ll find out soon enough, he comes by every day, for his americano, without fail.” 

He worries, looking at how absorbed Jaime is. 

“You’re getting into one of those moods, aren’t you, brother.” He chuckles softly, and takes a swig from his whisky flask. He tries to offer it to Jaime, but he is too busy examining her wrists -  _ her fucking wrists!  _ \- on his screen to realise. 

He sighs.  _ It’s too late _ , he thinks to himself, and pats Jaime softly on the shoulder. “Be careful,” he says, and he  _ means it _ . 

Jaime has always been the most sensitive of the three of them. Cersei was Cersei and hardened by her pure ambition and ego, truly Tywin’s daughter in her mannerisms and thought; while he liked to think that he had his father’s brains and savvy but his mother’s sensitivity. But Jaime, Jaime was all heart, even though their father wanted him so much to be the ruthless Lannister heir. He would never be the businessman that he was  _ supposed  _ to be, he’d never be the social butterfly that someone of their standing ought to be, even though his golden hair and handsome features made him an easy charm. 

He has a feeling that Jaime is going to be Jaime, and tell the barista without much hesitation, how much he admires her. He’s always been the straightforward sort, wearing his heart on his sleeve, as long he has decided that the person was  _ worth his while _ . Although they very rarely were, like all the pretty model types that Jaime had picked up and put aside after a couple of dates over the years. 

But he doesn’t realise that this is beyond the artist in Jaime talking until he meets Bronn the day after. 

“Your brother was a dead drunk last night, took nearly half a bottle of your favourite whisky, until he was bloody babbling about the barista at Rath. Brienne, her name is, well, now I know because Jaime wouldn’t shut up about her and how beautiful her eyes are. Your brother’s one lost asshole.” 

“Well, fuck.”

He realises that Jaime is _actually in love _with Brienne when he sees them talking a few days later, and perhaps _she is in love with him too_. They're smiling, both of them, with the twinkly bashful grins that is more fitting for teenagers than the very grown adults they are. Their bodies mirror each other, both leaning forward slightly, shoulders squared, and their foreheads angled towards each other. 

He can't hear them talking, the cafe's always a little noisy and reverby, but he doesn't have to. Jaime's always been a bit of a gesturer, and he waves his hands wildly and vaguely as he's probably explaining his plans for their first shoot. 

He can't really remember Jaime being this happy, he's always been a bit broody since their mother died, but there's a bounce in his brother's movement as he speaks to Brienne. 

She looks bashful as she had days before, but there's a bit of yearning in her gaze, _isn't there?_

_ Well, I guess we have two idiots in love, and none of them the wiser.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might have gotten a little derailed here, and it's all a little slow moving, but I promise it's getting somewhere. thanks for the love!


	7. Brienne III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heaviness and then the lightness, together at once, and she wonders how he manages to convey it this way - he must carry it all within him, she supposes. 
> 
> She wants to take it from him, lighten his load.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions and discussions of sickness, death and grief.

“Hey Dad,” she smiles to herself, as she picks up the phone. It’s 8pm on a Saturday, which means it can only be Selwyn, her father is a creature of habit, and 8pm on Saturdays were  _ their time _ . 

“My darling, how have you been? Are classes alright? Busy week?”

“It’s always about the same, there’s not much going on, but I’ll probably be busy over Christmas, so I might not be able to go back… I’m sorry, Dad.” She bites her lower lip nervously, hoping that her dad won’t take it too hard. Christmases were always hard - it was close to Galladon’s birthday - and she had always tried to spend the holidays back home, but this year was hard. 

“It’s okay, don’t worry. Classes are important, plus I was thinking of going over to visit you this year, anyway. It’s been a while since I travelled to the city. How is the cafe?”

She tries not to think about  _ him, _ but she feels the familiar rush of heat to her face, and is thankful that she’s in her tiny studio apartment rather than in public, her blotchy blushes were always a right sight. 

“It’s alright. You know I’ve always wanted to do a barista gig, and it does pay pretty well.” 

“You don’t have to work yourself so hard just because of the money, Brienne. I told you, if it’s too much, I can always give you more money. Don’t tire yourself out over this, you hear me?”

“You give me plenty, Dad. Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

“You know I’ll always worry. Be careful.” 

She feels guilty even just thinking about Jaime, how his shoulders looked under his shirt, and mentally slaps herself.  _ He’s Jaime Lannister, and you’re you. Don’t be ridiculous.  _

She’s let herself spiral too easily, fallen head over heels for a pretty boy in the past. Renly had been the first boy to show her kindness, the first boy to be a gentleman even though she was nothing like a lady, he’d demanded others show her respect. And she’d fallen irrevocably for him, even though it quickly became clear that he’d never have eyes for her. 

Never mind that she was ugly and too-tall, towering over him; clumsy next to his smooth, agile movement; blunt and awkward in contrast to his casual demeanour. 

She knew he was in love with Loras Tyrell, and never would see her as anything more than a good friend. So that was what she would be - his good friend, his most loyal friend. 

Renly had asked her to share an apartment with him and Loras, but even she knew that it would be a terrible idea. She could pretend that she never had that massive crush on him, but seeing them together, stupidly in love together, for most of the day would be absolutely insufferable. 

So she’d hardly seen them around since classes started up again that year - they’d chosen different modules, and after moving out of halls, she decided to save up a bit more and picked a studio in a rougher part of town, while Loras and Renly moved into a beautiful penthouse unit at the top of a building which the Tyrells owned and rented out. 

She wakes up early the next morning, and she’s surprised to see an email from Jaime - with a mess of typos in the subject. It says ‘helo heres m samples fur fpr yiu’, and his message is riddled with them too. Judging from the timestamp, she guesses that he must have either been half-asleep or drunk when he’d sent it.

_ hi Brienne, its Jaime.  _

_ I know it’s an odd reqqqquest, and I don’t usualy go up to strangers the way I did tday. You probably think I’m a weird PERSON.  _

_ Most of these photos Ive never shared with ootehers.  _

_ BUt they’re special to me, and I know it’s presumptuouus of me to say this before youve agreeed to anything, but i think anything we work on tgther could be special tooo. _

_ Id love to get to know you better and tell ur story, and I hope youll give me a chanc to do so. _

_ Love Jaime _

‘Love Jaime’, she reads to herself, over and over, and tries not to read into it.

_ Love Jaime. Love Jaime?!  _

‘I’d love to get to know you better’? 

She tries not to get her hopes up, but his message, though written like a child and slightly worrying given that it was sent in the middle of the night, seems sincere like he’d been during their chat. And his photographs were beautiful - Sansa was right. 

He had such a distinct style across the photos, although it was obvious they were taken at very different periods of his life. There’s one of a wrinkled elderly man, with sunken cheeks and sagging eye bags, with the filename ‘Cassel_15’, and she guesses it’s the neighbour that Sansa had been talking about. 

The man’s expression was solemn, but there was a surprising joy underlying, in his posture and the way his legs were deliberately crossed, and the slight, playful tilt of his head. All he did was sit in his wheelchair, in front of a colourful mural, yet it was such a deeply intense photograph that she couldn’t help scrutinising it for a few minutes. 

Brienne finally releases the breath she didn’t realise she had been holding, and clicks on the last file in the folder - it’s titled ‘Mum_78’. She isn’t prepared for it, she thought it’d be a happy photo, perhaps, but though the photo is bursting with colour, there’s a heaviness to it that she wishes she could lift from  _ his shoulders _ . 

A beautiful woman, who she supposes can only be Jaime’s mother, sitting in a bright red car. Her hands are clasped together, and she manages a bright smile, but where the shot of Mr Cassel had been solemn with happy undertones, this one is the  _ exact opposite _ . 

An IV is inserted in her arm, and there’s obvious weariness in her eyes - they’re the same green as Jaime’s - and her legs are so thin there’s almost no shape left to them. A pale pink beanie is pulled over her head, which looks to have been shorn of hair, and her eyebrows sparse - chemotherapy? 

She finds herself staring at it, for too long, trying to take in as much detail as she can, wondering how old Jaime was when he’d taken it, how old his mother had been. She doesn’t look like she could have been much older than fifty, if at all, and even though she is pale and wan, Brienne knows that she must have been gorgeous. It was still captured, her beauty, in Jaime’s art, and in that moment she has her answer. 

She somehow finds herself wanting to give him a hug in that moment, to tell him how much she wishes that he never feels that pain of losing a loved one as sorely as he must have when she passed, and wonders if looking at this photo brings all the heaviness back. She feels the darkness from looking at the picture alone, and it takes her back to the funerals she attended as a child. 

Her final goodbyes, to her mother and her sisters, then shortly after, to Gally; they’d scattered their ashes on the beaches, let the tide carry their remains into the sea - it was a family tradition - to live by and live always by the waters. She remembers having felt very numb, when people had come up to her, tell her that she had to be a  _ big girl for Daddy _ , and she’d wondered what they were talking about because she’d always been the  _ biggest girl in class _ . 

Death didn’t seem so permanent then. 

Yet it feels permanent through his photograph. The heaviness and then the lightness, together at once, and she feels so strongly for him, wonders how he manages to convey it this way -  _ he must carry it all within him _ , she supposes. 

She wants to take it from him, lighten his load, the same way she feels every Christmas, when she sees her father grieve, again, for his son gone too soon; for his wife and daughters taken too early from him. She is gripped more by his sadness than her own, and she’s always felt a bit guilty for it, and she’d thought as a child that as she grew older the sadness would as well, but instead it had dulled and numbed with the time. But she knows it probably never changed for her father - on the same days each year he is quieter and a bit more introspective, and she usually lets him  _ just be _ , calls him, tells him she loves him, that she’s thankful for the days they have. 

She wonders if Jaime ever got to tell his mother how much he loved her, how many days they had to share these last moments, how it had been when they said goodbye, if they had a real goodbye. 

She wonders if Jaime misses his mother more than she longs for her own. 

_ I want to get to know you better and hear your story.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, this chapter is a bit of a heavy one. I've always wanted to capture death in photos, but it is the hardest thing, to tell someone who knows they're dying that you want to immortalise their likeness to remember them by. I never did, not properly, I could only stand by the side and take my grandfather's side profile, the shape of his hunched back, as I watched the sickness take him away.  
My fictional Jaime is the version of myself I never could be.  
I hope the heaviness doesn't take away from the story, and thank you for reading, it means the world to me.


	8. Brienne IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What, you’re not going to return my hug? This is a strange hug, wench.”

She’s distracted all morning at the cafe, wondering what time Jaime would come in, by all accounts from Pod he’s normally in around nine, but given that he did send that email in the middle of the night, a normal person wouldn’t be awake at nine. 

Brienne knows she must seem different, somehow, because Sansa keeps looking at her and asking her if she’s alright, and all she can do is muster a half-smile and say she’s tired. But she knows she feels different, and she can’t quite find it in herself to explain to someone that isn’t Jaime. 

_ Is it empathy? Or pity? Or simply the yearning to reach out to someone who has experienced so much grief that she wouldn’t be able to bear?  _

She can’t help picturing that photo of Jaime’s mother, and she finds herself thinking about her own mother - she barely remembers how it was at the end, and sometimes she kicks herself for it because it just feels numb and not  _ real  _ and she wishes that she could just remember because she can’t share it with her dad. She wonders if it makes her any less of a daughter. Selwyn Tarth has never told her stories about her mother from  _ before _ , neither has he talked about the boy that Galladon was, and she hasn’t tried to know, hasn’t tried to understand. 

She feels guilty for it, but she also feels like it’s not her place to open wounds which took years to almost-heal. 

She wonders if it would be cruel to ask Jaime about how it felt to see his mother fade away over time, if it would be selfish of her to want to know. But it feels like an integral part of him, and she finds herself wanting to  _ really know him _ , so it doesn’t feel like something she should and can just skirt around. 

“Are you alright?” 

Brienne startles, as Sansa looks at her intently. “You’ve been spacing out all morning. Are you thinking about who I’m thinking?” There’s a hint of playfulness in her voice, and she smiles warmly, as if to say  _ I won’t tell _ . 

“I saw one of Jaime Lannister’s photos of Mr Cassel. It was… unexpected and you were right, he has this way of capturing a depth of emotion…” 

“Why do you sound so uncertain?”

It’s a valid question, because Jaime’s been nothing but kind and eager in their exchange, and his email was sincere, as he had been in person. Sansa speaks highly of him, Podrick admits that he’s too chirpy sometimes but seems like a kind person. 

But she’s hesitant, because even without his Kingslayer reputation, he’s also Jaime Lannister, a handsome man with no reason to be this enthusiastic about working with her. She can’t shake the thought that he might be toying with her, just trying to see what kind of response he can get out of an ugly woman who has probably never gotten any positive male attention in her life. Why wouldn’t he be? 

Her thoughts are interrupted when a familiar voice rings out: “Ay, Brienne!”

She turns quickly in the direction of the voice, and beams when she sees Loras and Renly, in their almost-cringeworthy matching outfits. Except the tight patterned shirts and identical navy blazers look ridiculously good on the two of them, and they have the confidence to pull it off. 

She lets Renly wrap her in an embrace as she quickly taps in their orders - lattes for them both. “It’s been long enough, Baratheon.” 

“Hey, it’s not my fault, there’s been a bunch of essays due recently, and you know how I get when deadlines are near. But we’re here, aren’t we? About time we assessed your barista skills, I figured.” 

She shakes her head as she passes them their lattes, daring them to say they’re anything but solid with a warning look. 

She can’t resist asking Renly about Jaime then - she knows Renly’s brother Robert is Jaime’s brother-in-law, and they must have interacted at some point. Brienne trusts Renly’s judgment of people, even if he has had some iffy guesses in the past. 

_ He’s a bit of a brooder, isn’t he? Renly suggests, and Loras cocks his head and half-shrugs in agreement. Jaime wasn’t quite the same after his football incident, I think football was always his life, you know? But he also delved right into his artsy business, and he’s done pretty well for himself with all the exhibitions, won a couple of awards and all. Think he does a fair bit of commercial work as well these days.  _

_ Renly looks at Loras then, and tells him that it’s weird he knows this much, but Loras just shakes his head and punches Renly lightly. I know someone who bought prints from him and commissioned a project - they cost a pretty penny. And another engaged him for their pre-wedding shoot.  _

_ In all seriousness, I haven’t seen him since Cersei and Robert left for Dorne. He spent quite a lot of time with Myrcella and Tommen, but I never talked to him much. Don’t think he’s seeing anyone? Probably just chilling with Tyrion and Bronn most of the time, I reckon.  _

She finally musters up the courage to tell them about Jaime’s proposal. 

Loras looks excited and starts chattering away, telling her that she has to do it, and even asks if he could be a part of it. “Ren, we could get him to do a shoot for us.” 

Renly looks at Brienne, slightly panicked - he’d told her about wanting to propose to Loras and engaging a photographer to do a shoot, although it’d been ages since he’d updated her about it, but judging from his expression, she guesses that’s still somewhat in the works. 

“I haven’t decided yet, Loras. I mean… you guys know how it was last time… and…” 

“Brie, those  _ boys  _ were assholes. But you can’t let that hold you back forever.” Renly takes her hand gently, and looks at her sadly. “If this is something you want to do, you should,” he says, and for a moment she isn’t sure if he’s just talking about the shoot or  _ something more _ . 

But he’s right. 

It isn’t until the mid-afternoon when Jaime, looking worn out and sporting massive dark eye circles, drags his feet into the cafe. She’s having her lunch, lasagne which Catelyn had prepped for the staff that day, at a table by the back corner, and it’s Sansa’s older brother Robb who gets his coffee. 

Jaime doesn’t notice her, but his eyes - those brilliant green eyes of his - are wandering, and she wonders if  _ he’s looking for her _ . Robb pulls a bottle of cold brew from the fridge, and hands it to Jaime, along with a chocolate croissant, who takes it gratefully and turns around.

And that’s when he sees her, and suddenly his face lights up, and she knows she must be blushing, and looking absolutely ridiculous with her freckled, ruddy face, and too-big teeth on display. 

“I was looking for you!” He exclaims, with the enthusiasm of a child. “Did you see my email? Sorry, it was full of typos, wasn’t it… It was late, and my friend Bronn - you have to meet him sometime, he runs a decent bar - may have given me one too many drinks. I’m not normally a drinker, my alcohol tolerance is awful, and well, he knows it.” He pauses to take a bite of his croissant, and looks a bit pleased with himself, with the flaky pastry crumbs at the sides of his mouth. 

“Have you thought about it? I know I said I’d bring some paperwork, but I clean forgot it was the weekend and my lawyer friend’s only going to send them over tomorrow.” 

“I’ll do it.” 

“It’ll be fun, Brienne, wait… wait, what?” 

“I said I’ll do it. You’re right, it’ll be fun, and I’ve never done anything like this before. Let’s do it.” 

Jaime stands up, and she feels compelled to match his height, so she does too, and he somehow takes it as an invitation to hug her, so he wraps his arms around her. 

She’s immediately struck by just how muscled he is, and she knows he’s strong, there’s the telltale wiry strength in his veiny forearms, but she didn’t anticipate just how  _ warm and wonderful  _ it’d be to have his arms around her, and she freezes. 

He stills for a moment, too, but he doesn’t take his arms away. “What, you’re not going to return my hug? This is a strange hug, wench.” 

She gingerly puts her own thick arms around him as well, lets her fingers run across his sculpted back, and tries her hardest to ignore the tingle that runs through her fingertips as she does so. 

Brienne lets her hands settle on his shoulders, trying not to let her fingers fall too close to his exposed neck and skin; as Jaime's fingers rest softly on her waist - she's suddenly conscious of how thick her waist is and how broad all of her is, but she realises how broad his own shoulders are, they're wider than hers, even though it didn't look it. He's wearing some cologne too, a faint mix of citrus and oak notes, and she can't help herself as she leans in closer to take a deeper whiff. 

He holds her a little tighter then, and it feels more than a celebratory hug, it feels more supportive, _somehow_.

"Thank you, Brienne, you have no idea how much this means to me." 

She nods gingerly, and gazes towards the counter to see Sansa and Robb - the girl is beaming, but Robb just has a doubtful expression. 

"Your photos were beautiful, Jaime. I couldn't quite say no to them." She tries to pull herself out of the hug, but Jaime doesn't let go, and _ordinarily this would be when the red flags should set off and she would be more cautious and wrestle herself out of it_. 

"Well, I couldn't quite say no to what we could have together, so that makes two of us." He lifts one of his hands to her cheek, and leans back slightly, brushing some of her hair out of her face. 

"You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Jaime is over-enthusiastic Jaime with no sense of personal space.


	9. Jaime IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wonders if she can feel how warm his cheeks get when she tells him that his photos were beautiful, wonders if she thinks he is beautiful too, because hell, “you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” he tells her, brushing some of her hair out of her face so that he can look at her eyes more closely.

It’s past two when he falls out of bed with a massive headache. It has been a few months at least, since he last had so much to drink, and curses to himself when he vaguely remembers how he’d let Bronn ply him with drink after drink. The wiry bar owner has left him a message, which is just a scramble of numbers which Jaime grimaces at when he realises it’s his bill from the previous night, even though he and Bronn have plenty of unresolved debts and loans as it is. 

His laptop is running noisily on the desk across his room - a few sheets of paper are strewn messily across the glass surface, and Jaime trudges over to tidy it up. He remembers sending Brienne an email, and clicks on his sent folder to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating that bit. 

Jaime’s relieved when he realised that he hasn’t said anything grossly inappropriate in his drunken stupor the night before, although his message is riddled with silly grammar and spelling errors, so she probably thinks he’s incompetent or just plain stupid.  _ I can deal with stupid _ , he tries to comfort himself. 

His fridge is empty, he realises, when he thinks about fixing a quick lunch, as he usually does on the weekends. He’d meant to stop by the supermarket the day before, but he’d been completely distracted and clean forgotten.  _ Except how beautiful her eyes are _ , and he subconsciously picks out a navy tee thinking about the shade of blue they are. 

Jaime knows he probably looks like hell - and there’s not been a reply to his email even though Brienne’s likely to have read it by now. He can’t help agonising over whether she’d even looked at his photos, perhaps she just took a read of his email and decided he was a right idiot and not worth her time. 

He finds himself texting his brother, as he always does when he’s in a panic.  _ I think I blew it with her.  _

The reply is near-instant.  _ Who is this her you speak of? Blue-eyed barista Brienne?  _

_ I sent her an email and some photos, but she’s not replied.  _

_ It’s a fucking email, Jaime.  _

He groans - Tyrion doesn’t understand, of course he doesn’t - he probably hasn’t really spoken to Brienne and doesn’t know why this matters so much, not that Jaime really understands why she is so  _ special _ , just that she  _ is _ , and he thinks he’s really probably ruined his chances of  _ something really special _ . 

But he decides to give himself another shot anyway, and drags his tired body to the cafe, hoping she’s on the weekend shift. 

He looks around wildly when he arrives, it’s not Podrick nor Brienne who’s manning the counter this afternoon, it’s the dark-haired boy, Robb. He’s a polished lad, and Catelyn’s eldest son, but he’s always looked a little scornful whenever Jaime’s interacted with him. But he’s also got the best palate of the baristas at Rath, and made some excellent recommendations on choosing beans in the past, so Jaime trusts him when Robb says that the day’s roast wasn’t their best and he was better off getting a cold brew instead. 

“I’ll have a cold brew and, uhm, a croissant. Chocolate croissant.” 

He doesn’t see Brienne inside the roasting or prep area, and tries not to look too disappointed, and turns to look for a seat. 

And he sees her. Slightly hunched over at a small table at a corner, eating out of a small ceramic bowl, looking right at him. She gives him a small smile -  _ but it’s a warm smile  _ \- and blushes.  _ She’s adorable,  _ he thinks to himself, the way she seems a little bashful and trying to hide her strong frame, and he feels instantly uplifted by her presence. 

He takes a seat opposite her without asking, and starts rambling without thinking, but she’s still looking at him with her wide innocence,  _ so he can’t be doing anything wrong _ , and she hasn’t stopped him or looked at him weird so maybe she hasn’t seen his email? 

Jaime has a bite of his croissant, and it’s lovely and flaky and just slightly warm, buttery sweetness of the pastry a lovely contrast to the tempered acidity of the cold brew.

“Have you thought about it? I know I said I’d bring some paperwork, but I clean forgot it was the weekend and my lawyer friend’s only going to send them over tomorrow,” he continues, feeling a bit sheepish as he makes a mental note to get Addam’s help with those. 

“I’ll do it.” 

It doesn’t quite register when he hears it, until he finally catches himself and it really  _ sinks in  _ that she has agreed and she’s grinning at him, her freckles seemingly sparkling even more than usual in the afternoon light. He stuffs the rest of the croissant into his mouth without thinking, but all he’s really registering is that she’s said  _ yes _ . 

“I said I’ll do it. You’re right, it’ll be fun, and I’ve never done anything like this before. Let’s do it,” she says, biting her bottom lip. 

He’s overcome by the desire to hold her then, and when she stands up as he does, he figures  _ why not _ and puts his arms around her - and she is warm and feels strong under his touch, she doesn’t pull away, but she’s also not returning his embrace, so Jaime unthinkingly freezes and mumbles: “What, you’re not going to return my hug? This is a strange hug, wench.” 

He realises that it may not have been the best choice of words only after he says it, but hopes that she takes wench as a friendly tease rather than an insult, but she doesn’t seem like she’d take offence, and he’s  _ relieved  _ when she lets her hands rest on his shoulders. Her hands are broad and slightly damp through his thin t-shirt, and his own find their way to her waist. 

He wonders if it’ll be ok to let them fall towards her hip, but decides that it might be too invasive, so he leans in a little more and tries not to lose himself too much in her. 

_ He’s reminded of the warmest embraces - with his mother, with Cersei when they were younger, with Myrcella and Tommen before they left - the promise of love, the promise of care and warmth and protection, between them and usually from him. It had been a while since he felt that he could be safe in someone else’s care, but in Brienne’s arms he feels like perhaps he doesn’t always have to be the strong one and he finds himself wishing that he could capture this moment and frame it up for all the times he forgets how comfort feels like _ . 

He tells her thank you, and hopes it doesn’t sound too pathetic, even though he figures she probably already thinks he’s a bit needy by now and somehow doesn’t really care too hard either way. 

He doesn’t let her pull out of their hug, trying to show her that he’s strong enough to match her, that they are  _ equals _ , wants to show her that he can be  _ comforting  _ too. It doesn’t matter to him in that moment that he’s overstepping boundaries because all he can think about is how much she has come to mean to him in a matter of hours and days and there’s a certain spark that he feels between them and he wonders if she feels it too. 

_ He wants to tell her how her freckles dance, how her eyes shine like the waters that he and his mother used to skip stones over _ . He wonders if she can feel how warm his cheeks get when she tells him that his photos were  _ beautiful _ , wonders if she thinks  _ he is beautiful too _ , because  _ hell,  _ “you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” he tells her, brushing some of her hair out of her face so that he can look at her eyes more closely. 

_ I could lose myself in you.  _

He’d always been a little afraid of forgetting the person he was in another’s presence, afraid that he’d been distracted from what he loved and wanted most, fearful that he’d muddle too much and disappoint the memories that he’d promised to his mother. But he’d never been able to talk about it, the closest he’d ever been to sharing his sentiments were through the series of photographs and brief write-ups he’d done to contextualise what they meant, but he knew no one would ever quite understand,  _ and they weren’t really meant to _ , but he finds himself wishing that there was some way he could share all of what he thought and felt with Brienne, and he  _ believes  _ that she’d understand, somehow.

She looks a little taken aback when his right thumb rests lightly on the end of her eyebrow, a flash of worry glazing over, and his left hand finds itself on her right forearm. 

“I know I can be too much and too eager - my brother tells me this often enough - but I have so much I want to be able to talk to you about. It’s presumptuous of me, and I’ll be away for most of this week because I have a shoot scheduled in Highgarden, but I’d be honoured if you’d do dinner with me next Saturday.” 

_ Please,  _ he says inwardly as he notices her hesitation, and he steps back gingerly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to scare you…”

“Okay.” “Really?”

She laughs softly, and shakes her head. “You’re  _ just a little  _ persistent, Jaime, but dinner next week sounds good. I’ve plenty of questions for you,” she says teasingly. 

“You have my number, text me where’s a good place to pick you up, I’ll book a place.”

She nods, and  _ there’s her sparkle again _ . “See you, Jaime, safe travelling to Highgarden.” 


	10. Margaery I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She trusts Jaime. Trusts him enough to tell Sansa that she’s spot on with her guess that Jaime’s interested, and tells her that he seems sweet and sincere, if just a little desperate, but that’s probably because he’s from a different generation.

She doesn’t give too much thought to the fact that the photographer that they’re working with for Rose’s spring/summer collection is Jaime Lannister. The last name registers briefly, but she’s seen his work in a number of editorial productions and exhibitions over the last few years, and Margaery generally leaves the logistics to Willas. Her area of expertise has always tended to the creative, anyway. 

It’s her first season being properly in charge as Rose’s artistic director, finally taking over from Olenna, who decided that it was time to take a step back and “let the young ‘uns run wild”. 

Her grandmother still laments that it’s a shame that she hasn’t chosen to pursue fashion design more seriously and done an apprenticeship in the way that Loras has decided to get some academic and practical experience in retail management, but Margaery’s managed to convince the matriarch, somewhat, after two years of being her assistant. 

But it isn’t until Sansa messages to ask about Jaime that she wonders if there’s something to think about the kind of person Jaime Lannister is.

_ He’s been talking with Brienne - she recently started working as a barista with Rath, Renly and Loras know her from school - and I think he likes her, and she definitely thinks he’s good-looking. Which he is, you know? He’s old, but he’s still pretty cute. Is he an ass? I heard he’s doing a shoot with you guys this week. Keep me updated?  _

_ He’s dated around a little, but I haven’t heard anything too awful. Loras would know, though, but sure. I’ll see what he spills.  _

Margaery remembers spending one summer on Tarth with Loras and Renly. Brienne’s childhood home was a beautiful island with the softest sand beaches, but she had been painfully shy then. It wasn’t until their vacation was over that Loras told her about how insecure Brienne was in the presence of those she weren’t familiar with, and how she’d been bullied by most of the people in their year, simply because of how she looked. 

Sure, Brienne was never going to be a model or win any suitors based on her looks, but she was a sweet person and well-mannered. Olenna had called her “quite singular” and “a lovely child, if the world doesn’t eat her up”, and Margaery knew that Renly was protective of one of his few childhood friends, just as how she was defensive of him whenever someone tried to suggest that he was a brat, like his older brothers liked to claim. 

But in subsequent weekends spent together, when Margaery would visit Loras in the city, she grew to understand Brienne better, tried to help her realise that it didn’t really matter how others looked at her and thought about the way she looked, as unconvincing as it sounded coming from someone who spent a lot of time and effort in making appearances of foremost importance. 

_ People have less patience for ugly people, Margaery, not that you or Loras or Renly would ever know that, and it’s okay, you know; I have learned to deal with that. I don’t expect kindness from them, they are going to make fun of my ugliness some way or another. So be it. I can deal with that. It’s those that feign kindness which are the worst, yet they are also a dime a dozen. So tell me, what’s the good in this world?  _

Loras was less gentle with Brienne than Renly was, but he too treated her like a sister, and he’d told Margaery about how he and Renly had wanted her to live with them, so that she wouldn’t have to stay in the dorms or worse, alone. 

But Margaery sort of got that Brienne would have hated the arrangement with them even more. She’d rightly guessed that Brienne had once fancied Renly, still had a soft spot for him, even if she knew that Renly would only ever have eyes for Loras and saw her as a sister and never more.

But she knew better than to speak of it plainly with Brienne, but skirting around it had brought an unexpectedly frank “Renly’s a friend, a special friend, but I don’t expect more” from the blonde. 

On another occasion, she’d very pointedly said  _ I know my place _ , and it was all a little too self-pitying for Margaery, but she understood, somewhat, that Brienne saw things differently. 

She knows that Sansa’s probably spot on with her assessment of Brienne’s possible crush on Jaime when she first sets eyes on him. It’s the first time they’ve met in person in years - but he’s still the same handsome Lannister she remembers. He’s broad and muscular like the football star he was groomed to be, and the confidence of Tywin’s son is unmistakable. With his golden hair, it’s hard to not mistake for him for the model rather than the photographer, and she knows Brienne has a thing for pretty boys -  _ Jaime Lannister could be the prettiest one of them all _ . 

He’s all-business, for most of the week, and he seems distracted when they go out for meals or discuss concepts, as though he doesn’t really want to be there, but remains professional enough that Margaery admits he’s well worth the significant fee he’s commanding. Olenna had insisted that it was time they worked with Jaime, given the plaudits he’d been earning and the substandard results they’d gotten from the last two photographers they’d worked with, even though his charges were among the highest on the market. 

But Margaery being Margaery, she doesn’t hold back when he agrees to go out for drinks the night before he’s due to return to King’s Landing. 

“I heard that you’re in talks with a dear friend of mine.” 

Jaime’s looked bored for most of the evening, but his head snaps up in response to her pointed statement. 

“I didn’t know you were friends with Brienne Tarth. Wait, is it through Loras? It can’t be Willas…?”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it? I heard you’ve been quite the charmer at the cafe, but what’s the deal, Lannister?” 

He narrows his eyes and his body language grows defensive. His voice lowers into a snarl: “There’s no deal, Margaery. She’s unique, and I want to work with her. It’s simple as that.” 

“Doesn’t sound quite so simple if you’re going around hugging her and sneaking photos of her while she’s at work,” she says as she leans forward across the table, her eyes growing dark with suspicion. “She’s my friend, and I don’t know what you know, but she’s not always had the best experience with men and people have been assholes to her. So if I hear that you’re being a dick towards her, I’ll make sure that you’ll regret it. And I won’t be the only one.” 

His gaze softens as she speaks, and Margaery notices the slight slump in his shoulders when she briefly mentions how one of the guys in Brienne’s grade had sent hate mail to her for a year in her senior year. 

“I’m not like them, Tyrell. I didn’t know what she’s been through, but I know… things are rarely easy for people that don’t fit within society’s notion of beauty. Tyrion was given hell for most of his school years. I don’t imagine they were much kinder to her. But that’s not the kind of person I am, nor the person I’d ever want to be. I don’t want to jump to things before I get to know her proper, but I’m not going to pretend that I’m not interested. And you know enough about me to know that I’ve not really had much of a serious relationship to speak of.” 

“Which says something for itself, given you’re what, 40?” 

He winces. “I’m older than you, but I’m not quite middle-aged yet. I’m 35, not that it matters, does it? But anyway, I can’t quite explain why, but I do think she’s quite intriguing and I do want to get to know her better, but I’m trying not to be quite so forward since she seems shy and all, but trust me when I say that I’m not going to take advantage of Brienne or make a fool of her. That’s not my intention at all.” 

“Then what’s your intention, if you claim to be so honourable?” 

“I think I like her, and I want to know her. I want her to be my muse. It’s as simple as that.” 

She trusts Jaime. Trusts him enough to tell Sansa that she’s spot on with her guess that Jaime’s interested, and tells her that he seems  _ sweet and sincere, if just a little desperate, but that’s probably because he’s from a different generation.  _

Margaery’s assessment of Jaime’s sincerity is justified a few weeks later, when Jaime calls her in a half-panic. 

“Sorry, this is really random and out of the blue, but do you have any idea what Brienne likes to have when she’s ill? The silly wench has been running a fever for two days and keeps insisting she’s fine and refuses to see a doctor, and I can't force her to go, but I thought maybe cooking her some comfort foods would help. I’ve been bugging Renly for her dad’s number, but he doesn’t have it. Do you reckon she’d like chicken stew? Or something with seafood?” 

“Definitely something with fish, Lannister. She’s an island girl, but I do remember her saying she loves to have her dad’s banana bread whenever she’s feeling ill. But I don’t have that recipe.” 

“Banana bread, something with fish, got it. Thanks Margaery, I owe you one.” 

Margaery laughs when Loras sends her a photo of Jaime with ten batches of banana bread and a mess of banana peels in his kitchen the next day, looking absolutely exhausted but pleased with himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another outsider's POV! was a toss-up between Margaery and Sansa for this one, but I decided that I wanted to play with something out of the cafe for a bit, and I'm still considering a Sansa POV chapter sometime later. Let me know which other POVs you'd like to see besides our lovely j/b :)
> 
> also, I feel like I should tag this as a slow burn given the glacial speed I'm crawling at, but I'm really not in a rush with this one. hoping it's not too slow though?
> 
> hope this was a good one, will try to update next week before I'm off for a short holiday.


	11. Jaime V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime doesn’t tell her that he hasn’t felt like this in years, or ever - he guesses. There hasn’t been a woman who he’s felt this desire to know, protect and shield from the ugliness of the world, not a woman who he feels so entirely captured by physically and emotionally, even though he doesn’t quite know her.

This trip couldn’t come at a worse time. Granted, it had been arranged for weeks, and he was genuinely interested in the collaboration with the Tyrells for Rose’s spring/summer collection. It had been more than a year since he did a fashion editorial, and he knew that Margaery Tyrell was always open to new ideas. 

It could be worse, he knows, but he hates the fact that being in Highgarden for the week means that he can’t get his coffee at Rath, and well, he can’t see  _ her _ . 

Jaime knows he should be embarrassed by how head-over-heels he is for someone he’s only just met and barely knows. Hell, all he knows is her name, how she looks, the way she moves, and that she’s a barista and still in university. She’s young and not beaten by the world, and she has the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. 

He ignored the questions from Tyrion and Bronn, when he proudly told them that she’d agreed to go out for dinner. 

_ Where are you taking her for dinner?  _

_ Shouldn’t the question be where he’s taking her after dinner? Her place, or yours?  _

All he can think about is Brienne - and instead of sketching the concepts for the Rose shoot, of which there are 15 he needs to put together, he’s putting together a moodboard for her project. 

There’s one that involves a fencing gym - she looks like a warrior, and he guesses that she’d be spectacular with a blade, she certainly has the posture and the strength for it. He wonders if she ever dabbled in it, but he wants to have shots of her fencing without the mask, without hiding, letting the foil catch the light. 

Brienne has perfect posture, he’s noticed, but she carries herself as though she doesn’t want to be seen in her full height, with rounded shoulders and her gaze always looking low, a slightly clenched jaw and fiddling with her hands. 

He misses getting to see her, misses having the brew she makes, even though it really isn’t the sort of situation that he should be in, and it all feels a little silly. But silly doesn’t seem so bad, Jaime thinks, as he puts the finishing touches on the fencing board. 

“I don’t recall writing a brief which includes fencing or swords.” The tone is sweet yet cutting, and Jaime doesn’t have to turn around to know that it’s the young Tyrell heiress, Olenna’s favourite granddaughter Margaery, who has come up behind him. 

He knows he looks a little sheepish when he meets her questioning look, and shrugs. “It’s not for your collection, it’s just something I’ve been working on the side. But I’ve got most of the sketches sorted, it’ll come through when we’re on set.” 

“They better be, Lannister. It’s a tight schedule as things are, and if you’re going to make any weird requests, please give my assistants a heads up, won’t you?”

Jaime gives her a thumbs up, and saves his file -  _ briennet18.pdf.  _

The shoot goes smoothly enough - but Jaime has done enough of these to know that money goes a long way in solving many of the little niggles that are inevitable with editorial projects, and the Tyrells have certainly spared no expense. He gets the feeling that Margaery is being a little over the top to prove her worth, to show Olenna Tyrell that she’s ready to take over the running of Rose, even though she’s still a little too idealistic in her expectations. 

So he agrees when she asks him out for drinks on Thursday evening, thinking that it’d be a good opportunity to learn more about what her direction was for the brand and future areas for collaboration, but also to get an idea of how she was regarding the pressure of succession. He knew the feeling all too well himself, having once considered acceding to Tywin’s wishes and taking over the Lannister assets. But Jaime knows that there’s a different hunger which Margaery possesses which he never did and never will, and perhaps that in itself is enough. 

He doesn’t expect her to know about Brienne, much less be her good friend - Brienne Tarth was nothing like the Tyrells, she was understated and humble, but it’s a small world after all. 

“She’s my friend, and I don’t know what you know, but she’s not always had the best experience with men and people have been assholes to her. So if I hear that you’re being a dick towards her, I’ll make sure that you’ll regret it. And I won’t be the only one,” she says. 

“Ron Connington - I don’t suppose you’ve heard of him, he’s a bit of a low-life, even though he’s been at a couple of Renly’s family’s social gatherings. The twat sent her hate mail for a year, toyed with her feelings, threw roses at her and told her that she would never find a man who’d want to give her flowers. All because he thinks she’s ugly, too tall, and whatever else he said. What I’m trying to say, Lannister, is that she has had a hard time. She doesn’t need some pretty boy like yourself, no matter how old and fading you are, coming into her life and trying to charm her and then just leaving her feeling worse about herself. Because they have, and each time it’s happened Brienne’s just a smaller shadow of herself. It’s awful, and I don’t want to have to see it again. She doesn’t deserve any more of that crap.” 

Jaime’s heart sinks when he hears that, an odd mix of sadness and anger and frustration at how cruel people are, and wishes he could have been there in some capacity when she had had to face that. She must have been what, fourteen, fifteen? No teenager deserves to have their self-confidence shattered like that, and he realises his fist is clenched subconsciously. 

“I’m not like them, Tyrell,” he tells her, trying not to sound arrogant as he knows he often does. 

He feels a dull ache within when she tells him about how she's only seen Brienne with her father, how Brienne rarely speaks of her mother, and none of them are really aware of when her mother left, or passed away, because there never seemed to be a good opportunity to ask. Selwyn Tarth is a very large man of few words, Margaery says, and Jaime recognises that Brienne probably picked up the polite reticence from her father. 

He wonders if she has siblings, if she is close to them, or whether they're living in the city as well. He guesses that she's close to her father, if he's the only kin that others have seen her with. It makes him think about his own father, and how he only sees Tywin Lannister during the holidays now, after he decided that Jaime was too much of an embarrassment to be worth any of his time.

He hopes that Brienne doesn’t think he’s trying to make a fool of her like these other men have. He wonders if she realises just how wonderful she is - her gentleness and politeness and grace; if she can see how beautiful her movements are, how strong she looks. How warm it feels to be in her embrace. 

He finds himself being blatantly honest when Margaery asks him point blank what his intentions are. 

But he has nothing to hide. “I think I like her, and I want to know her. I want her to be my muse. It’s as simple as that.” 

Jaime doesn’t tell her that he hasn’t felt like this in years, or ever - he guesses. There hasn’t been a woman who he’s felt this desire to know, protect and shield from the ugliness of the world, not a woman who he feels so entirely captured by physically and emotionally, even though he doesn’t quite  _ know _ her. 

He knows that she’s got a soft heart - anyone else with a more cynical view would have pushed him away harshly, but she has regarded him with respect and curiosity, and it’s more than he could have asked for. 

He spends too long trying to figure out what are good flowers to get her, since his original idea of the very romantic roses are clearly out of the question now. A flurry of texts to Tyrion, Myrcella, and against his better judgment, Bronn, are thoroughly unhelpful, and in the spur of the moment past midnight, he places an order for gardenias. They’re elegant, perhaps a little more serious than he intends, but they just feel right the moment he scrolls past a photo of a bouquet on one of Tyrion’s recommended florists’ sites. 

Dinner is booked at a quiet, intimate restaurant with just 12 seats. It’s a hole-in-the-wall place which Jaime’s been alone on occasion, especially when he was struggling for inspiration. He wonders if she’ll like it - Brienne seems like the sort who would hate a loud, crowded place, even though the cafe is always bustling. He’s seen her tucked into the back seats of the cafe often enough to be sure of that. 

He just can’t wait for Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short chapter - not very much happens here, it's just more pining Jaime for now, but things will kick up a little in the next couple of reads. Thanks for being around as always, and it's such a joy reading your comments. Have a great weekend!


	12. Brienne V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did you manage to get through the front door? It’s normally a buzzer…”   
“I just pressed a couple of numbers until someone let me in."

She knows she was hasty when she said yes to his dinner invite. 

It wasn’t quite a date, was it? It sounded like just dinner, even though she had been so distracted by his gentle touch, and his warmth, and his eager expression that she wouldn’t have have realised if he’d been holding a dagger to her belly. 

But it was impossible for Brienne to have said anything but okay - Jaime’s golden hair, beautiful eyes and chatty demeanour was naturally charming, and he had done nothing to suggest that his intentions were insincere up to this point. 

So she’d said yes, not really knowing what to expect. Would it just be a casual restaurant chain dinner, or something more elaborate, or a walk through an evening pop-up market? Fancy as the Lannisters were, there was something reassuringly down-to-earth about Jaime, especially with his no-frills dressing, even if his  _ very well-fitted tees  _ probably cost more than her most formal pieces put together. 

Brienne finally texts him her address on Friday evening. She’d been deciding between the cafe and her place for him to come by, but she didn’t really fancy having to deal with her nosy co-workers before Jaime came around. Plus, Jaime probably had ways of getting her address if he was a creep, so that wasn’t really a good reason to not do so. 

She doesn’t expect him to reply within five minutes, but he does, and this time his message sounds a lot more sober than his email had been. 

**hey :) will swing by around 6pm, if that’s okay? I’ve a place in mind, but they don’t take reservations and it gets crowded quickly. you’re not allergic to anything, are you?**

**nope, don’t really have food preferences either. 6 is great! ** She types quickly, wondering if it’s a bad look to reply too quickly, or whether she should add an emoji, but decides that the exclamation mark is good enough, and presses send before she can agonise over it any further. 

**fantastic :) excited for tomorrow!!! *hug emoji***

Brienne laughs at his use of the emoji and three! exclamation marks -  _ it’s the same, funny, eager guy you met, don’t worry so much _ , she tries to convince herself.  _ It’s just dinner, not a date, and it doesn’t mean anything.  _

Her father guesses that something’s on her mind when they have their call on Friday evening instead of their usual Saturday, but she can almost see his twinkly smile as he asks if she has plans for the weekend. 

“I’m happy that you’re having fun in King’s Landing, Brienne, you’re young, you should meet more people and do what makes you happy. Don’t worry about our call, you know I don’t have much to do, you can call anytime you want, or not call if you’re busy. So who’s the lucky guy who gets to spend Saturday evening with my daughter?” 

“It’s not quite like that, Dad… it’s hard to explain, but he’s a sort of friend? We’re just having dinner, that’s all.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself that it’s just dinner, not me, love. Tell me about this boy, humour your old dad.” 

Brienne sighs - her father had always tried to encourage her to go on dates, even setting her up on several occasions, one with a much older man who made her feel extremely uncomfortable with his old-school mannerisms and expectations.

“His name is Jaime, he’s a photographer, and well… he’s not really a boy. He’s a bit older, in his thirties? He seems like a good sort. But it’s really not a date, Dad. I agreed to help him with a project he’s working on, so we’re meeting to talk about it. That’s it.” 

“My dear, no one does a work discussion on Saturday evenings, but that’s just my old-man opinion. If you think he’s a decent chap, that’s good enough for me.”

_ He’s more than decent,  _ she wants to say, Jaime’s been kind and more friendly than most people have been. 

“Send me a photo of him if you can, won’t you?” Her dad adds, and Brienne groans, knowing that Selwyn would only tease her further if he saw just how beautiful Jaime was. 

“I’m not making any promises. Call you soon, Dad.” 

But her dad had a point - who really wants to spend their Saturday night talking about work? She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but it felt like she and Jaime had a genuine connection and she wonders if it feels like a spark on his end as well, or he was just a touchy-feely sort that was just that emotionally connected to people who he considered to be artistically interesting.  _ That’s what I am, aren’t I, a curiosity?  _

She wants to tell her dad about her hesitation, which she’s been holding back when probed by Sansa - much as she knows the girl is just being helpful, it feels like too intimate a feeling to share with someone she knows wouldn’t be able to empathise. Which isn’t really her fault, but Sansa is one of those who have always been pretty and has a confidence that comes with. 

But she doesn’t stop Sansa from coming over for a “chat” on Saturday afternoon before her dinner with Jaime. Brienne knows she’s just trying to be friendly, and they’re not that far apart in age, and she never quite had a close female friend to talk about these things with. It’s refreshing, she realises, and she sort of enjoys the triviality of their conversation, meaningless as it seems. 

“So many baristas have tried to get a date with Jaime Lannister, but none of them have been successful. You’re a star, Brienne!” Sansa tries to convince her to wear a dress and some make-up, convinced that it’s a date-date and he’s going to take her someplace fancy because he’s a Lannister and that seems like the sort of things they do. 

Brienne flinches slightly at the comment, and can’t help but try and remind herself that it’s not a shot at her, and Sansa’s just stating a fact, and  _ of course  _ most of the female (and perhaps male) baristas would have wanted to go out with him.  _ But why me?  _

“I told you, it’s not really a date.” 

“Yes, you’ve said that so many times, but… we have eyes, Brienne, we’ve all seen how he looks at you, and how you look at him too. Pod and I have never seen him look so  _ keen _ .”

“Wait, Podrick’s in on this too?”

“Jaime’s a regular, and he’s not been shy about how he’s interested, Brienne. Everyone’s in on it.”

“Gods, this is embarrassing. I’m sure Jaime doesn’t see me that way… I’m me… and I look like this... “

Sansa’s face falls, and she reaches out for Brienne’s hands in response. “Brienne, you look just fine. So you’ve broken your nose before, but so what? I think your freckles are adorable, and your eyes are to die for. And Jaime’s clearly very taken.” 

She doesn’t try to persuade Sansa that the younger girl is  _ quite mistaken  _ about Jaime’s intentions, but just shrugs anyway and lets her help her put on some light eye make-up. The mascara and eyeliner do make her eyes look brighter, she admits, and she even agrees to tweeze her brows slightly to get rid of the stray hairs. 

“And well.. I talked to Margaery, she was working with Jaime on the Rose shoot in Highgarden, the reason why he hasn’t been in this week, and she’s convinced that he is pretty sincere too. So have fun tonight, ok?” 

She has twenty minutes before Jaime’s due to come by, and she feels a bit silly, just sitting around and making sure she doesn’t look underdressed or overeager - she’s gone with a pair of raw denim jeans which she cuffs at the ankles, making her legs look even longer, and plain white t-shirt along with white sneakers. It takes her some back-and-forth before she decides to wear the sapphire pendant that her father gifted her for her sixteenth birthday, it had been her mother’s ring, but Selwyn had decided to have it set as a pendant as it didn’t feel right to have someone else wear the ring. 

A beige linen blazer is hung on her cupboard, in case Jaime turns up looking more formal than his usual get-up, and she tries her hardest not to think about how his  _ perfectly-sculpted back  _ would look like carrying a suit. 

Brienne doesn’t expect him to pick her up in a car - even though she knows he drives and clearly owns one - somehow she’d been anticipating him to just walk up to her building’s front door, which she can see from her kitchen window. 

But there he is, getting out of a Mini Countryman - she should have guessed he was a Mini owner - wearing a sharp navy suit and a white shirt without a tie. She holds a breath, and realises that  _ they were all probably right - this is a date _ . She looks over her outfit, and suddenly feels awfully under-dressed. 

Thankfully, one of her white shirts is clean, pressed and hanging in her wardrobe, and Brienne quickly switches her tee to put it on. She still looks more casual than smart, but it’ll have to do within the limitations of her wardrobe. 

She just manages to fold the tee and put it on the dresser when she hears two firm knocks on her door. 

“How did you manage to get through the front door? It’s normally a buzzer…” 

“I just pressed a couple of numbers until someone let me in,” Jaime replies matter-of-factly, chuckling to himself. 

He takes two awkward steps into her apartment and puts his arms around her - he's wearing the same cologne, she realises, before stepping away. 

“You look great, Brienne. We match,” he adds, gesturing at their white/navy combos. To her surprise, he’s worn white sneakers as well. 

He whips out his phone and looks at her as if to say _humour me_, before he takes a selfie with her. "We look cute, Brienne. Those jeans are killer on you." 

“I thought I’d wear a linen blazer if we were going somewhere a bit more formal… but I’m not sure even that’s formal enough,” she says tentatively, subconsciously nibbling at her lower lip. 

“Nah, it’s perfectly fine, it’s a bit warm out for a blazer anyway, I was thinking of not wearing mine, to be honest, but I figured it was nice to wear a suit for once.” Jaime takes off his jacket and picks up a stray hanger on the small dining table in her apartment, gesturing vaguely to her before he puts his suit jacket on it and hangs it on the rack in her corridor. 

“Shall we head off?” 

She looks at his jacket, still hanging on the rack, and he hasn’t made any motion to pick it up. Brienne cocks her head slightly, and she knows she must look bemused, because he  _ blushes _ and runs a hand through his hair slightly nervously. 

“I was… trying to be smooth, you know, leave something behind so I’d have a reason to come up to your place after. I’m really not very good at these things, and I really shouldn’t take Tyrion’s advice. It was his idea, but I guess it’s pretty silly, isn’t it?”

“You’re alright, Jaime. You’re alright," she laughs, and takes his arm when he offers it to her, trying her hardest to remind herself that _it's not a date, but even if it is, there's no harm in it. Is there? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a while to really get going with this chapter, and I'm sorry but next chapter isn't yet their date - I have a little detour and time-jump to get through. Thanks for reading!


	13. Tyrion II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants to tell Jaime that it doesn’t matter what he does because she is clearly quite smitten with him, heart eyes and all. He knows that Jaime has fallen too hard to retreat, but his brother’s easy charm has never been put to good romantic use. It had always been the ladies doing the chasing, and this was the first time he’d seen Jaime pining so hard. 
> 
> So he gives his brother a little advice, even though he doesn’t need it.

He’s never seen Jaime  _ this  _ nervous. Sure, he’s seen his brother have a few silly rambles before some family dinners and the first time he held an exhibition, but Jaime always at least had his wits about him, and a bit of charm. 

Not this time. 

He’s trying on three different sets of clothing, has made five separate restaurant reservations, and can’t decide on whether he should drive or take the metro. 

He’d asked Tyrion for help, but of course any advice he gave fell on deaf ears. 

“Wear the grey suit, you haven’t worn it in a while and it makes your shoulders look broader.” “It’s a little severe, don’t you think? Doesn’t it seem a little dull?” 

“You don’t need to book up five places, Jaime. You’re going to be there before seven, there’s no way you’re not getting a table.” “You don’t know that, Harrenhal is so small, it could fill up easily. And if that falls through, I have to pick something she’d like. Five is the minimum, really.”

“You have to drive. Unless you’re planning on drinking a ton, then you can always call a driver. Or Bronn can go and get you. Your car is part of you, you have to share that with her.” “What if she doesn’t like my car?” “Then she’s probably not going to like you very much, is she?” 

Tyrion’s frustrated, and tries to remind himself that his brother is actually a fully-functioning 35-year-old and not some 15-year-old green boy, although Jaime’s doing a pretty good impression as it is.

But it’s surprisingly endearing, he realises, this is a part of Jaime’s life that they never got to share. A part of either of their lives that they never got to share, not while they were living under Tywin’s roof. After their mother passed, he became even more gruff and intolerable, and they never got to have this childish ‘is she in love with me back’ when they were of the right age. 

He’s seen Jaime obsessed, misguided, and oblivious to the world around him. He’s seen Jaime disinterested in the women he dated, with them and desperately trying to feel something, but there were too many times when nothing seemed right and Jaime had been unwilling to cut things off because it didn’t seem like it was the best timing to do so. He’s seen Jaime struggling to find a connection with the world, and trying to get people to see the same shades of grey he did. 

But this is a different Jaime. Somehow determined yet so uncertain of all that he was, and the cause of it all was a very atypical woman. A girl, perhaps, Brienne Tarth was probably younger than her frame and quiet maturity would suggest. 

He wants to tell Jaime that it doesn’t matter what he does because she is clearly quite smitten with him, heart eyes and all. He knows that Jaime has fallen too hard to retreat, but his brother’s easy charm has never been put to good romantic use. It had always been the ladies doing the chasing, and this was the first time he’d seen Jaime pining so hard. 

So he gives his brother a little advice, even though he doesn’t need it. 

“Little gestures. The usual polite things, but look at her like you mean it not just because you’re being polite.” 

“Ask her about her life, her family, and don’t just yabber on about how much she inspires you. She doesn’t seem like the type who likes to be flattered all day.” 

“Let her choose a starter to share - show that you want her opinion. But you have to be decisive too, women don’t like men who are wishy-washy.” 

“Leave something casually at her place so you have a reason to go back up and chat, since that’s all you want to do, isn’t it?”

Jaime looks at him suspiciously at his last sentence. He’s decided on the navy suit, sans tie, since he’s hoping that Brienne will be wearing blue as well, and acknowledged that there weren’t really that many downsides to taking his Countryman for a spin. 

“That seems kind of shady, doesn’t it? I mean, if she wants to hang out after dinner and invites me over, that’ll be amazing, but it seems a little odd to leave something there so I  _ have  _ to be invited back.” 

Tyrion laughs, because Jaime actually looks more serious than he needs to be, and is considering his suggestion with real criticism that he wasn’t expecting. But Jaime’s serious expression turns into a frown quickly. 

“I need to make this a good impression, Tyrion. I think I really do like her, and I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like her who I want to know so much more about, and I wish there was a way I didn’t sound quite so ridiculous saying it. I know what you’ve been talking to Bronn about, and he probably thinks I’m delusional, and maybe I am, I don’t know, and I know you don’t think she’s beautiful but I could lose myself in those eyes.” 

“I just want you to be happy, Jaime.” Tyrion says softly, and puts his palm atop his brother’s. He had several conversations with Bronn - neither of them ever thought they’d see Jaime ever find happiness, it always seemed like he was either too demanding or too distant for it to happen, but they were both wrong. 

“She kind of reminds me of Mum, you know?” Jaime starts, and sighs, fiddling with his thumbs in the way he used to do a lot more when he was a child, until Tywin told him that it was unbecoming of a Lannister to show nervousness. 

“It’s not really about how she looks or how she speaks but there’s just something in the way she moves and carries herself, it’s just  _ warm _ , and it reminds me of that kind of safety that I always felt when Mum was still around, and I’m trying not to make her a  _ replacement _ , and I don’t think I am… I don’t know. I just don’t want to mess this up.”

“You’re not going to mess this up. You’re going to be two very annoying and tall idiots in love and have ridiculously large children who will tower over me, and I can say I told you so.”

\-- 

And he does, tell Jaime and Brienne "I told you so", even though he's absolutely floored by just how tall his oldest nephew is as a 10-year-old, and it somehow comes out as "I love you so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this was a little later than I wanted it to be! Hope it's a good one.


	14. Brienne VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I sort of forgot what made me happy, what I felt when I took something that was good and something that was truly special. For a period, everything just felt like something else. I still feel like that sometimes.” 

She can’t help but smile a little too broadly when she gets into his car - it’s in British racing green, and it kind of matches Jaime’s eyes. He’s been thoughtful, as he has always been. The passenger seat has been adjusted so that she has to pull it back forward a little so that it doesn’t seem like she’s too far behind him to speak comfortably, but there’s much more space than her long legs require. 

“I hope you’re not particular about sharing food?” Jaime asks, somewhat hesitantly, as he turns out of the side road where her apartment block is located onto the main street. 

“Doesn’t bother me too much. Are we headed to a small plates place? Tapas?” 

He chuckles, and excitedly tells her that it’s not tapas, but it’s a modern European place which has a bunch of sharing plates and is pretty much a farm-to-table concept, hoping it doesn’t sound too pretentious to her. 

“They don’t take reservations, but it’s a small place and can fill up quickly on weekends. I’m hoping,” he says, glancing at the clock on the dashboard, “that we’ll be in time to get a spot. I like sitting by the bar because you can see them grilling on charcoal, but it is also a little smoky and warm there, which isn’t really for everyone. My brother hates it, but he also does love the little tasters that they’ll give you when you’re seated there.” 

It sounds awfully familiar, the more Jaime talks about the place. 

“Is it Harrenhal, by any chance?” Renly had tried taking her there, it was one of his favourite places to go to with Loras, but the three occasions they’d turned up at the door, it was full. Then again, Renly was always a poor planner who dragged her to dinner places at 8pm, so it was little wonder they never got to eat where they wanted to.

“How did you know? Have you been? It’s one of my favourite places, and I’d eat there every other week if I could.” Jaime turns to look at her, a childish grin spread across his handsome face, as he pulls to a stop at a traffic junction. 

“I’ve not had much luck with a table,” she admits, glancing towards the road briefly. “Renly always raves about it, but we’ve always been too late. Maybe today’s my lucky day,” she ventures. 

Brienne doesn’t know why - but she feels lighter than usual - it might be Jaime’s presence, his easy demeanour and slight nervousness easing up into chirpiness. It hasn’t felt this  _ easy _ talking to someone this unfamiliar in a while, but it’s almost like he has become familiar. The timbre in his voice, the way he tends to fall into a ramble, and then catch himself, a little bashfully. 

It isn’t long before they pull up to the valet outside the restaurant, and Jaime presses a twenty into the valet driver’s palm as he hands over his keys. “Be careful with her, won’t you?” He says it softly, almost like he doesn’t intend for her to hear, but they exchange a warm knowing look as he offers his arm to her again. 

She likes that they’re about the same height, she isn’t towering over him, but she’s probably a little bit taller. It’s easy enough to slip her arm through his, and he puts his hand on the small of her back to guide her into the small restaurant as he opens the door for her to enter first. 

They’re lucky -  _ she’s lucky  _ \- because they manage to snag a table by the bar. It’s the last two seats in the restaurant, and for a moment Jaime looks worried that she’d be unwilling to be so near the charcoal grill, but she laughs and reassures him she’s perfectly fine with it. 

They both order red wine - Jaime tells her that he won’t drive if he has more than two glasses, and he has a guy he can call upon if needed - and she leaves the ordering to Jaime. 

But he insists that she picks a few dishes that pique her interest, so she does, plumping for a pig’s head terrine dish, padron peppers, and grilled scallops. She wonders, if him biting of his lower lip when she mentions the pig’s head terrine is a sign of approval or disapproval, but decides that it sounds too good not to try. 

She later finds out that pig’s head terrine is his  _ absolute favourite  _ and that he has a butcher he goes to on some weekends to get their cured pig’s head, and she makes him promise to let her try some one day. 

Jaime goes one further - “Let’s go there next Sunday. I’m running out of supplies, and they’re best when they’re fresh.” 

So Brienne agrees, and she can’t tell if it’s the third glass of red wine that they’re having, or that Jaime’s blushing when she says yes. 

He tells her about his mother - how she used to be his greatest confidante and was his biggest supporter when it came to his photography, and how he lost his direction for a bit when she was gone. “I sort of forgot what made me happy, what I felt when I took something that was good and something that was truly special. For a period, everything just felt like something else. I still feel like that sometimes.” 

She rests her hand on his - atop his large hand hers don’t feel quite so out-of-place. “What kind of themes are you most excited about these days? What inspires you?”   


She’s startled by his answer. 

“You, to be very honest. I’m probably not as sober as I’d like to be when I told you this - I’m a bit of a lightweight.” He pushes his glass aside lightly, and clasps her right hand in between his two warm palms. 

“I haven’t felt inspired by anything in a while, but you remind me of a feeling I used to get. I know it’s weird, but I guess it just feels familiar, warm and comforting in a sense and I just want to capture it, remember it. Immortalise it. I can’t help the feeling that I want to know so much more about you Brienne, and I know it must seem strange, but I can’t think of a better way to say it, so this is just how it is.” 

Brienne pauses - she doesn’t quite know how to respond. He’s always been forward about wanting her to be his muse, but it feels a little intimidating, and it feels slightly pressurising, but there’s this eagerness, a childlike eagerness in his expression that it doesn’t seem weird. It’s endearing, like Jaime  _ is _ , and she finds herself nodding, slowly. 

“I’d love to help you explore something different, Jaime.” 

So she tells him a little about herself - she tries to be gentle when she describes how she felt when she saw the photo of the woman she rightly guessed to be his mother, but Jaime swallows visibly and takes a larger mouthful of wine than she knows he intends to. 

She tells him about how it’s just her and her dad, the obligation she feels to spend more time with him, how it doesn’t feel right to be in King’s Landing when he’s alone on Tarth. How she can never quite share in his grief because she doesn’t know her mother, and feels guilty for it, and wonders if that makes her a bad daughter because she’d never be able to understand her father’s greatest loss.

She tells him about how she’s spent so much of her time trying to learn more about coffee, the way different beans react to different temperatures, the level of roasts and how to roast good beans well, and how to make the best use of sub-par beans. 

Jaime looks a little embarrassed when she says he’s missing out on all the possibilities of coffee by sticking to his straight black coffees. “I’ll let you decide what’s the best use of the beans the next time I drop by - which is probably tomorrow,” he says bashfully, and she can’t help but feel a little guilty when he does. 

“You don’t have to force yourself to try something you don’t want to. It’s just coffee,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Well, not just coffee, but, you know what I mean,” she finishes hurriedly. 

“I want to.” 

She finds herself asking him about his relationship with his brother, telling him about how she barely knew Galladon before he was gone, and shakes her head when he tells her he’s sorry. “You don’t have to, Jaime, I don’t really remember much of him or my mother, and I know it’s awful, but with time, I remember less. It really shouldn’t be, but it’s fading, and there’s nothing I can do to retain those memories, what little of them.” 

He tells her that Tyrion’s his best friend, and one of the smartest people he knows, and it’s clear from the way his eyes sparkle that there’s a special bond they share, even if Jaime admits to not being able to be the big brother to Tyrion the way he had wanted to as a child. “It was different, growing up in my family, we never had that kind of kinship. My mother tried, but my father, he’s a hard man, and I was always a bit closer to Cersei… but things change.” 

She doesn’t press further - she senses from Jaime’s body language that he doesn’t quite want to. 

The food at Harrenhal is good - Renly was right and Jaime had picked well. But it’s nearly the end of the night when he makes her laugh, for the umpteenth time that evening, with just how ridiculously thoughtful and silly he is in doing so. He insists on picking up the tab - _I asked you out, so it has to be my treat _\- and slips his card into a slim holder which he tucks back into his back pocket. Jaime ruffles his hair, and looks a little uneasy as he ponders his next words.

“So, this is a bit stupid, but I made five dinner reservations for tonight.” 

“What? Five?! Why, Jaime? That’s five restaurants losing out on a table for tonight, that’s terrible.” 

“I was worried they wouldn’t have a table here, and I didn’t want to be struggling for ideas when it’s our first date. I couldn’t risk it.” He pauses, and she tries to calm herself as he gives her that smouldering look that he probably doesn’t know he has mastered. 

“It is a date, isn’t it, Brienne? Tell me I’m not being presumptuous when I say I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight, and I want to see you again. Not just at the cafe, not just for our shoots, but you know, like this. I like you. Margaery was asking me about what this was about - I guess she heard from Sansa, or Loras. Said I was old. I guess I couldn’t be sure then, but after tonight, I think it’s pretty clear to me. I like you, and I hope you’ll want to go out with me again. I’ve had a really good time tonight.” 

_ He likes me, he had a good time _ , she tells herself, trying to find the right words to say in response to what essentially was a confession, except he’s Jaime and he’s ridiculous and very good-looking and she’s just her. Age, looks notwithstanding, he’s also one of the most talented photographers she’s seen and she  _ doesn’t feel enough _ . 

“I’m just me, Jaime, and you’re you. I’ve really enjoyed tonight too, but I’m not sure you know what you’re saying.”

“Which part of it, Brienne? That I'm more than ten years older than you? That I'm a complete idiot? That I like you? Heck, I’ve been attracted to you since I first saw you at Rath - and I’m trying to not sound like a fool right now but - I’m quite smitten and I don’t really know what to do about it.” 

He leans towards her, and she feels herself stiffening up, and a blush rushing to her cheeks.  _ Breathe _ , she tells herself,  _ it’s okay.  _

“I’ve never dated anyone before, Jaime, I don’t know how this works,” she says softly, not able to look at him, even though she feels the heat of his gaze against her skin. 

It's a little embarrassing, and she didn't envision herself telling him that, much less in this way and in this setting - but it felt like it was necessary. To remind him that she's just _her_, plain and ugly and too large for more social settings, while he was easily the most handsome person in any room he stepped into.

“I’ve never dated anyone for long, and I’ve never felt this way towards anyone else, so that makes two of us.” 

He gently lifts her chin towards him, and gazes at her softly. “So why not give this a chance, Brienne? Give me a chance. Give us a chance?"

She wants to - wants to say yes, wants to be swept up in it, because he is being incredibly romantic and all the women she knew would kill for something like this. He was being the perfect gentleman, and had given her little to fault. 

"I don't know, Jaime," she says honestly, breathing out slowly. 

He takes her hand - she doesn't stop him, his palm is warm even if slightly clammy and his fingers are long and inviting as they wrap around the back of her hand - and leads her out of the restaurant. 

"Don't worry, I'm not going to drive. Our driver should be here any moment now, but." He stops himself, breathing out audibly. 

"I don't think I've wanted to know someone as much as I want to know you ever in my life. I can't stop thinking about you - my brother and Bronn both think I've lost my mind, and maybe I have? But I know that you are special and I know I'm much older than you and you don't know me. So maybe let's take a step back. Let's get to know each other, and promise me you'll give me a chance. Let me earn your trust." 

"I trust you, Jaime. It's just that I don't think - people will look at us and wonder if you've lost your marbles."

"I don't really care about all that, Brienne. You're glorious, and that's what I care about." 

He leans closer, and looks to her for permission.

_Oh, fuck it_. She steps forward and closes the distance between them, and presses her lips gently to his - _they're soft_, like she'd imagined after staring at them for too-long while he rambled on during the night, and they're warm, and she can smell his slight muskiness from sitting by the charcoal grill. 

But it is brief, and she steps back, her eyes shining in the reflection of his. 

"I trust you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the date! Next up, we'll have Jaime's POV, picking up from the end of this. Hope it was worth the wait, and thank you all for the kindness and support.


	15. Jaime VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re babbling, Lannister. Don’t mind him, Brienne, he’s just a lovestruck fool but he’s a good lover, although I’d say nowhere as competent as I am.” 

He waits for her to nod, say yes, or anything - some sort of go-ahead. But he doesn’t expect her to lean forward and kiss him instead, and before he can process it all Jaime can think about is how soft her lips are and how they suddenly feel so empty when she takes them away from him. 

“I trust you,” she says, her voice quiet but unwavering, and her bright blue eyes staring at him. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and he knows his own must be too, because they’re warm when he raises a hand to his left jaw. 

He puts his arms around her, wraps her in an embrace he knows is tight enough that she can’t just pull away, but not too constricting that she’d want to. “Thank you,” he says, over and over, softer and softer. 

All the tipsiness that he had felt just minutes ago seem to have raced away, his heartbeat has quickened, but he feels suddenly sober, and a bunch of thoughts race through his mind: what’s next? Should I go to her place? Is that presumptuous? Would it be pushy? Does she want me to spend the night? Talk into the night? 

So he does what he knows is the most logical thing, and asks her instead. 

“Is it alright if I go back to your place with you?” 

She nods, and they get into his car - Bronn’s arrived and picked it up from the valet, and he’s grumbling slightly. “I know you said I wasn’t your type, Ms Tarth, but I didn’t take you for one who liked them pretty.” 

“Shut up, Bronn. I’m not just pretty, and you know it. Plus, you were the one who said she was stunning. Which you are, Brienne. You’re the most stunning barista I’ve ever seen.” Jaime says earnestly, hoping she doesn't mind Bronn's gruffness. But she just shakes her head, and whispers so that Bronn can't hear them. "I didn't think he'd be your 'guy' when you said you had one." 

“You’re babbling, Lannister. Don’t mind him, Brienne, he’s just a lovestruck fool but he’s a good lover, although I’d say nowhere as competent as I am.” 

Jaime glares at his friend, although the car is probably too dark for Bronn to see. He finds himself holding on to Brienne’s hand a little too tightly, his hand is clammy and so is hers. He wants to hold her closer, feel her strength against his body, but it feels like it’d be too much, so he settles for her hand, placing it between his own, and leans into her shoulder. 

Bronn is not as careful as Jaime wishes he’d be when he pulls into the first parking lot he sees in the basement garage at Brienne’s building, but he tosses the keys into Jaime’s lap as he steps out of the driver’s seat. “You owe me a good dinner, Jaime,” he says, before slamming the door shut and sauntering out of the carpark. 

The car is suddenly quiet - the absence of the gentle engine hum and Bronn’s impatient tapping on the steering wheel - and Jaime finds himself awkwardly squirming in his seat. The backseat of his Mini has always been underutilised, and he didn’t realise just how buttery the leather was - there was just enough space for their long legs, and he finds himself looking at her legs - impossibly long, her powerful calves and sculpted thighs. 

He catches himself before he can say something stupid, and quickly motions for them both to get out of the car. 

He can’t help thinking about how her legs would feel wrapped around him as they go up in the elevator. He hadn’t noticed the details around her building when he’d picked her up earlier, he’d been too nervous to think about anything else, but there was a certain worn charm to the place. It was minimalist for the most part, with simple furnishings in dark rosewood. 

Brienne makes him a tea with a generous squeeze of lemon juice, and warms up a glass of milk for herself. He raises his eyebrows slightly when she sets it down, and she laughs - her warm, hearty laughter envelops her cosy apartment.

“That’s why you’re this tall, isn’t it?” He takes a large gulp of the milk, smirking slightly when she lets a frown creep in, and hands it to her. “I’d have taken a glass of milk too if you offered it, you know.” 

“It reminds me of home,” she says, more seriously than he expects. “My dad used to work late when I was younger, but he’d always heat up two glasses of milk and we’d have those ten minutes together every night. Just sipping our milk and talking about the day.”

He feels a pang of jealousy at the intimacy of the memory - he is envious of the relationship she shares with her father, and wonders how it feels to have a father that cares and you care about. Tywin Lannister could never have been that man, but he reminds himself that this is not about him, or about his relationship with his father. 

“Do you miss your dad? Or being back in Tarth?” 

“Somehow, not really. I don’t think I’d be as happy living there. It’s a beautiful island and it’s home, and I’m never going to get that kind of reassurance here, but it was also stifling in its own way. You kind of get set into the kind of person you can be in one place and not being able to break out of that… I don’t think I’d be able to do that, not for now at least. But I do miss my dad, and I know he’s lonely.”

Jaime nods, encouraging to go on, but Brienne leans back into the couch, seemingly not wanting to continue. 

“Are you planning to visit him soon? Or have him come over?”

“Probably. But it’s strange too, because it’s hard to wrap my head around being this version of myself with him again, in an unfamiliar place. I don’t know. What about you? You mention your brother a lot.” 

“Tyrion’s the only family member I’m really in touch with,” Jaime says, thinking about Myrcella and Tommen and how he wishes he gets to spend more time with them and just enjoying being in the presence of their innocence. 

“My sister and her children moved to Essos, so I don’t get to see them often. The children, they’re the sweetest, and my niece Myrcella was one of the most natural models I ever got to photograph. It’s been months since I last saw them, and I don’t know when’s the next. My father, well, you know what my family business is, and the kind of man he is in public is pretty much how he is in real life. I don’t miss him, don’t think I ever would. I wish it was different, wish he’d soften up now that he’s older.” 

_ But Tywin Lannister isn’t one who would soften up - a sign of weakness, he’d say - and Jaime’s past trying to have a relationship which can’t exist. He wants to tell her that he’d love to meet her father, know how it feels to interact with a father figure who actually cares.  _

He looks around her apartment, there’s a photograph which looks like it was taken recently - a photo of her and a man who is taller and broader than her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders on the beach. 

“That’s your father, isn’t it?” He points to the lone photograph on the side counter, and Brienne nods, a small smile spreading across her face. 

“We took that two years ago, just before I moved.”

She tells him about school - and university seems like such a faraway concept, but he vaguely understands when she tells him about how lectures are a bore and how it feels like she’s going through the motions sometimes. 

“I don’t really know what I’m going to do after I graduate, to be honest. I like working in the cafe, but at the same time I know it’s nice as a side gig, not really what I can see myself doing for the long haul.”

“You still have time, there’s always plenty of opportunities you could explore.” He remembers being lost for a time too, and how he still goes through that periodically - wondering how long he can do this before he runs out of inspiration for good, or when it gets tiring. The projects are coming through steadily, but he's felt his interest waver steadily, and perhaps it's time for him, too, to try something different.

“Perhaps.” 

“Maybe we could make that part of our project, you know? Exploring places, memories, and things that could be part of your future. What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to try your hand at but never got to?” 

A stream of ideas come to him - already he’s thinking about taking photos of her on a boat, after she talked about the ferry ride between Tarth and King’s Landing. It wasn’t the fastest option, but her preferred option anyway because she got to see so much more of the sea. He can already see her holding on to the railings on the boat and her eyes matching the hues of the waters. "Sail a boat?" 

"My dad has a small speedboat, we used to take it to the nearby islands, spend the day there hiking. I'd do it more often, if the old engine wasn't so finicky to fix." 

He can imagine her bent over a rusty engine, holding tools in either strong hand of hers, frowning at the mechanics, and a small smile spreads across his face. _That would be fun_, he thinks, and files it away under 'things I want to do with you'. 

Or of her sprinting along the streets, the tightness of her muscles against the blur of streetlights. "You used to run track in school, didn't you?" 

"I still run sometimes, half-marathons, when I can convince someone to go along with me. It's more fun that way, although it's hard now, when I don't have much time to train. Running on treadmills are boring." 

She pauses, and fiddles with her hands as a realisation lights up in her eyes. 

“I’ve always wanted to run a food truck.” Brienne looks at him as he gives her a slightly bemused look, not out of doubt but surprise at the sudden admission. The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense, since she's clearly very passionate about flavours and would be good at it.

“So let’s do that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I'm sorry for teasing Jaime's skills as a lover but not paying that off at all. Here's a quick turnaround to make up for it! Let me know what you think.


	16. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one convince another - who has been told her entire life that she is plain-looking at best, that most would consider her ugly - that she could be wanted, desired, and loved by someone who isn’t her family? 

_ Sweet and sincere, if a little desperate,  _ Margaery had described Jaime a week or so ago when he was shooting a project at Highgarden. Looking at him and Brienne - now a little more comfortable in each other’s company and painfully unaware of how sappy they looked together, Sansa can’t help but think that her friend was spot on. 

She had been convinced that Jaime was into Brienne from the way he looked at her and took photos of her, the way he was stumbling a little over his words. Robb was certain that Jaime had some  _ unsavoury  _ agenda, because he was a little too eager in the way he approached Brienne, but there was an earnestness about the way he tried to communicate his artistic intentions which was too sweet for her to ignore. 

And she was right, Sansa thinks to herself, as Jaime presents a sketchbook to Brienne, who’s technically on shift but it’s early in the morning and to be honest, Jaime’s one of the few people who come in and dwell for longer than five minutes at 7.30am. 

He’s already perky and chatty even at the early hour, flipping through the sketches that he looks to have spent a very long time working on, and Sansa can just about glimpse one of Brienne roasting a large batch of coffee beans. There’s a surprising amount of detail in his drawing, and she’s quietly impressed - she was aware of Jaime’s talent and solid portfolio, but it was the first time she had seen this part of his process and it was more inspiring than she had expected. 

Brienne looks happy, happier than she is even when she’s cupping new beans that come through the shop, even happier than she is when she’s made a delightful brew.  _ I don’t really know that much about what really makes her happy, though,  _ Sansa thinks to herself, as she sees Brienne nervously fiddling with her hands as Jaime chatters away. 

She knows about the hurt that Brienne’s been through, and the close relationship she has with her father, being the only surviving child of Selwyn Tarth, and Sansa had been to their island over the holidays. Mr Tarth was strict, quiet and brooding, much like Brienne herself, but next to his daughter, even he seemed like a chatty figure. 

She’d told Brienne about how many girls had tried to get a date with Jaime - he always seemed to be single, if not very available, and there were some strange rumours about how he’d been a complete asshole when he dumped his last girlfriend that he had ditched the poor girl for her  _ brother _ because Jaime Lannister was apparently swinging for the other side. But there had been very little signs of Jaime’s sustained interest in a romantic relationship, and he had only brought a partner into the cafe on a handful of occasions. 

Her heart aches whenever she thinks about how hesitant and lacking in confidence Brienne had been that evening just before that date she had with Jaime - convinced that her  _ looks  _ were the reason why there was no chance that Jaime could see her as a romantic partner, or could even be interested. 

How does one convince another - who has been told her entire life that she is plain-looking at best, that most would consider her ugly - that she could be wanted, desired, and loved by someone who isn’t her family? 

Sansa isn’t sure that Jaime is the answer to greater self-love for Brienne, but he hopes he can give her some of that confidence, whether it’s through his friendship, working with her, or his very obvious interest. She knows it’d be all too easy for him to scare Brienne off, Jaime being a straight talker, but hopes he has the good sense to recognise what Brienne needs. 

“He’ll be good for her, I think,” Margaery tells her when they meet for tea one afternoon. “Jaime’s a Lannister, but he’s always been kind. I think he really does care for her, even if there’s a lot he has to learn about Brienne.” 

“How did he react when you told her about the awful boys from her school?” 

“Horrified, as any decent human would be, I don’t know if he understands just how much that had an impact on Brienne. I don’t think she’s been interested in anyone over all these years, much less dated, or maybe Loras and Renly are just too oblivious. Either way, Brienne’s not one to talk much about that. Maybe I should say something to Jaime,” Margaery says, stirring a sugar cube into her tea. 

Sansa puts her hand over Margaery’s quickly, shaking her head furiously. “You can’t, Marg. What would you say? What if it becomes a situation where he treats her different - not in a good way - because of what you, or what we say? Maybe it’s best to just stay in the background for now, and step in if he’s not treating her proper.” 

She hopes that it’s the right call - she’s not all that certain herself that Jaime is really as good of a person as he seems, with all they’ve heard about him being callous and disengaged in his romantic relationships. 

“Alright. For all we know, he just cares for her like a little sister. He is a fair bit older, anyhow. Keep me updated? If there’s a need to, I’m sure I can work something out with Tyrion.” 

“Has he talked to you about Jaime?” 

“Briefly, when we were in touch about the next project. Tyrion manages some of Jaime’s commercial projects now, especially when there are long NDAs involved, but he’s always been sort of around anyway. He’s mentioned about how Jaime’s distracted with some female in his life, and I presume it’s Brienne, since he doesn’t seem to have taken on any other projects lately. I’ll drop him a text, I’m sure he has something to say anyway.” 

Sansa spends too much time over the next few days observing Brienne’s expressions when she receives a text - which is far more frequent than it was a few weeks back, and it’s obvious enough that even Robb asks if Brienne’s seeing someone. 

But Brienne looks happy, and not just quietly so - but she smiles more these days, speaks a little more, has even picked up some of Jaime’s banter. She sees the way Jaime leans into their hug enthusiastically when he insists on an embrace some mornings, and how Brienne doesn’t reject him - there’s something very platonic and brotherly about the way Jaime treats her sometimes, and then there are the moments when she catches Jaime looking at Brienne, when she’s not noticing, and Sansa’s very sure then - it’s nothing platonic at all.

She's floored when some weeks later, Jaime asks her about what there is to know about Selwyn Tarth, and nervously says that he needs to call him and make a bit of small talk to get his banana bread recipe - and she knows for sure then - it's absolutely not platonic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait and distracted chapter - it's been a bit hard trying to figure out where this is headed next, I have an idea of where it finishes up, but there feels like something's missing and I suppose I'm still searching for it. Thanks for sticking around :)


	17. Jaime VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime goes to Tarth.

He hasn’t seen her in a week and the texts have been sporadic, but Jaime reminds himself that she’s busy with her submissions for the term, and there’s a project which he hasn’t delivered the final shots for, so they both have reasons to be busy with things that isn’t  _ them _ . But it doesn’t change the fact that he feels uneasy, not being in the cafe because he’s gotten too used to the coffee she makes that everything else feels inferior, and not seeing her shining blue eyes. 

He looks at some of the photos he’s taken of her, but it’s different - they are still bright and yearning, but they aren’t quite Brienne. 

He finds himself counting down the days to the date which they’ve agreed upon - the first real day of shooting that they’d be doing, since he’d be done with some of the projects he had hanging, and she’d be free for three weeks during the Easter term break. 

“Don’t text her unnecessarily,” Tyrion had told him, “You shouldn’t be too pushy, no woman likes that.” 

_ But I am wishing to meet her, hear from her, about her day and all the stupid things she did which she didn’t want to,  _ he holds his tongue, knowing that his brother is sick of his rambles, and frankly, he’s sick of feeling this way too. He doesn’t want to be thinking about all the things he could be doing with Brienne, he just wants to be with her and learn about her likes, dislikes, habits, past, present, hopes for the future. Sporadic texts aren’t enough.  _ Nothing feels enough _ . 

But that has always been his flaw - nothing ever seems enough, he’s always in too deep, digging a hole for himself even when it could just take its time and be comfortable that way, and he knows there have been times where she has seemed apprehensive.  _ What is just enough? _

It comes as a surprise, then, when Brienne drops a message the day before they were supposed to meet: Sorry for the late notice, but would you be up for a trip to Tarth for three days? I can help you arrange for a place to stay at - I forgot that I was supposed to go back this weekend, but I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. 

Jaime leaps up from his chair and nearly breaks the glassware on his table when he realises she’s invited him to her hometown, and it’s for  _ three days _ . 

Of course, he replies, I’d be delighted to see where you grew up. Don’t worry about accommodations, I’ll get it sorted out. 

Except he isn’t normally good at these things - Tyrion’s always been his go-to for such practicalities, but Jaime decides that he isn’t going to tell his brother about it until after, he doesn’t want Tyrion’s advice floating around in his head.

He books a room in a motel near the pier, it looks slightly dated, but it has vacancies, which is surprisingly hard to come by given that it’s not the peak season to visit the islands. 

“You haven’t been on a ferry in a while, have you?” Brienne looks at him with an amused expression, when he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the seasickness that has come over him. 

“A few years, but I’ve never been good in enclosed areas while it’s moving. It’s unnerving.” Jaime groans, leaning a bit more into Brienne’s side - she’s warm, and her presence feels like one of the few things in that moment that’s constant.

“Would you feel better if you got some fresh air?” Brienne puts a hand on his right knee, her thumb rolling lightly against his jeans. 

He nods quickly, even though he’s not entirely sure, but she seems to think it’s a good idea, so why not? She grabs a bottle of water from her backpack, and extends her hand towards Jaime, pulling him up from his seat and leads him towards the back of the ferry. He stumbles, put off by the rumbling movement of the vessel, and she steps closer towards him, murmuring softly: “Look up, don’t keep looking at your feet.” 

Jaime feels silly as she wraps her arm around his waist, and practically hauls him towards the rails at the stern of the boat where two of the crew members are standing. Brienne probably knows them, because they look about to protest the presence of passengers where they don’t belong, before she waves at them and they nod grudgingly. 

“Tell them I’m not about to throw myself overboard, if I can help it,” he jests, but Brienne’s instincts were right - he does feel better now that the air isn’t stale and slightly musty. The waters are much bluer than they are near King’s Landing, and it’s been a while since he had the gusty sea winds in his hair. Brienne’s hair is flying wildly, but she still has her hand resting softly on his forearm, as if to make sure he doesn’t get swept off his feet. 

“I always liked it better at the back - see, the trails that are left, the swirl in the water, I always wished there was a way to replicate it, and the sound it makes, how it’s louder than the engine. There’s nothing quite like it.” 

“You miss it, don’t you?” Jaime takes a swig of water from her bottle and tucks it under his arm. 

“I don’t realise it until I’m back. Feeling okay?”

“Never felt better,” he says, and puts his hand atop hers on the railing. “Thank you for inviting me to go with you to Tarth - I can’t wait to see your favourite beaches.”

He wants to ask her about her father, whether he knows that Jaime’s going to be around, if she’s even told her father of his existence, and whether it’s quite his place to ask. They haven’t talked about whether this was a real date, or what their dates have become, it seems almost too familiar to talk about. But he hesitates, because  _ what if she doesn’t see it the same way _ ? 

But she doesn’t pull her hand away from his, and simply gazes back at him with an unreadable expression, a small smile finding its way through. “I hope it lives up to your expectations. It’s not much, but it’s home. My dad doesn’t know you’re around for the weekend yet, but I think he’ll be quite excited to meet you.” 

_ It’s a sign, isn’t it?  _ He knows he’s probably grinning too hard, but his heart feels very full in a way it hasn’t for the last week - and Jaime is about to ask about what she’s said of him, before a horn blares loudly overhead. 

“Ah, we’re almost there! Let’s go get our bags before we dock.” 

He thought that he’d be headed to the motel right after getting off the ferry, but Brienne shakes her head dismissively when he tells her about his booking at the Stormlands Hut. “That place is grimy, Jaime, you’d hate it. You haven’t paid, have you? There’s no way you’re staying there. No, we’ve got a guest room, and I’m sure my dad would insist that you take it. Come on, he’s probably somewhere around with his truck.” 

Jaime tries to hide his shock -  _ first an invitation to Tarth, and now her home?  _ \- it was everything he wanted but he also felt grossly unprepared.  _ What should I say to her father? Hi, I’m Jaime, and I’m interested in your daughter but you can probably tell because I’m crap at hiding it?  _

As it turns out, he doesn’t have the luxury of time to ponder over his best conversation starter, because Brienne’s wrapped up in the arms of a man taller than them both, with the same straw-blond hair of hers. 

“My darling! And who’s this?”

Selwyn Tarth looks at Jaime squarely, his eyes unwavering as he nods briefly in his direction. 

“Dad, this is Jaime.” Brienne says it simply, and looks to Jaime as if to prompt a self-introduction, and he quickly reaches out for a handshake. “Hi, sir…” 

“You’re Jaime!” He ignores the extended arm and puts his thick arm around Jaime instead and pulls him in for a hug. “You’re the photographer my daughter talked about. She didn’t say that you were a pretty one.” 

He’s positive that he’s blushing then, but he’s delighted that her father knows about him, and all he can think about is  _ why  _ and  _ what has Brienne told you about me _ .

“I’m flattered, sir…” he starts, but Selwyn cuts him off with a frown. “None of that sir nonsense with me, son, call me Selwyn. I’m glad you’re here, and you’re cancelling whatever reservations you’ve made, you’re staying with us.”

“Sorry about the intrusion on your father-daughter time, but I’d be honoured, Selwyn.” Jaime meets his warm gaze, and he’s suddenly reminded of how things were before his mother passed - she’d have been the same with Brienne, he knows. 

“Alright Dad, let’s not scare Jaime into getting the next ferry back, you’ll have plenty of time to talk to him,” Brienne says, raising her eyebrows at Jaime.  _ Sorry _ , she mouths, but Jaime just laughs in response. 

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, Selwyn, if you’ll tell me some embarrassing stories of Brienne.” 

“Oh, that’s for sure. I want to know everything about the man my daughter’s dating, you’re the first guy she’s introduced to me.” Selwyn puts his arm around Brienne’s, and Jaime almost expects her to retort that they’re not dating. 

But she doesn’t correct her father, and avoids Jaime’s gaze shyly, and he knows in that moment:  _ she knows it too _ . 

“I’m just a photographer. I drink too much coffee, mostly because Brienne’s such a good barista, and she’s the most special person I’ve ever met.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken me a month to get this update up. Inspiration's been hard to come by, and work's been draining the joy out of me, but it was fun to write this one and momentarily forget everything else around. I wish I could take a boat to an island too. 
> 
> I know Brienne's ease with Jaime may seem surprising, but we'll explore the whys and hows in the next chapter, which is a Brienne POV. Happy holidays, I'll try to get something up before the end of the year. :)


	18. Brienne VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You really like him, don’t you?”

“Dad, I have something important to tell you.”

Brienne didn’t intend for it to be a shock, but there was no good way of broaching the subject and her father was rarely one for beating around the bush. She knew it was about time she told him about Jaime - it was almost Easter and she was hoping Selwyn would come to King’s Landing over the summer before her graduation ceremony, but she didn’t want that to be the time he found out about him. 

So it comes out, during one of their weekly phone conversations. 

“I think I’m seeing someone. His name is Jaime, he’s the photographer I mentioned previously, the one…”

“The man you had dinner with and insisted it was just work.” 

“Well, yes.” Brienne swallows, not knowing how to feel about the  _ I told you so  _ that her father hasn’t bothered disguising. 

“Tell me more about him, has he been a gentleman?”

Brienne tells him about all of Jaime’s obvious qualities - how he’s thoughtful, observant and a little too meticulous at times, and how he’s a very loving brother. How he drinks probably too much coffee, and how they’d first met. 

“You really like him, don’t you?”

Selwyn’s question takes her by surprise - as much as she has been quite taken by Jaime, hearing it put that way reminds her that it has been just weeks since they met, and while they have spent a lot of time talking about who they feel themselves to be and some of their shared pain, she’s never quite confronted the fact that she  _ does like him quite a lot _ and he’s become someone special to her more quickly than she had expected. 

“I think I do, Dad. We… haven’t quite talked about things, but I think we’re sort of seeing each other, or at least it feels that way to me.”

“Do what makes you happiest, little star.”

They haven’t talked much for the week, and their conversations in recent weeks have been shorter as well. Classes have eased off, but there’s a lot of coursework that’s due and after she’d mentioned that to Jaime, he’s been quieter. Or at least a bit less snappy in his responses, and he said in passing one morning that he would,  _ in the meantime, _ catch up on things he had been putting off for too long.

They’re supposed to spend that Friday afternoon at the docks, to take some photos to test out some of the ideas they’d talked about, and it was unspoken but the weekend would be more of the same. 

She only remembers on Wednesday that she’s already bought her ferry tickets for that extended weekend to go back home, and she knows her father would be gravely disappointed, though understanding, if she were to cancel last minute.

But Brienne had been looking forward to spending this time with Jaime, and there was so much that she hadn’t been able to share with him, so much that she hadn’t been able to hear about on his end, and to miss this weekend doesn’t feel right, either. 

She tries her luck, to have  _ the best of both worlds _ , when she decides to invite him to Tarth.  _ Why not _ , she tells herself,  _ he’s always been spontaneous and it’s going to be good weather on the island, it’s as good a time as any other _ . 

She’s more forward than she’s ever been with Jaime, especially when she throws caution to the wind and tells him that she’ll help him arrange for a place to stay - there’s enough space in their house, and she knows Selwyn would be more than willing to host Jaime for a couple of nights, but it feels like a larger step than they’ve taken. To commit to three days of seeing each other in such close proximity, in a place quite so intimate as her childhood home. 

It’s a show of faith, she decides, the same faith that Jaime’s shown her in his patience and care in all the time they’ve spent together. She isn’t surprised when he replies that he’s happy to visit Tarth, even at such short notice, because Jaime’s always been accommodating, especially with her packed schedule. 

Brienne decides to tell Sansa that she’s spending the weekend on Tarth with Jaime as well the night before, and she anticipates that the Stark girl would be squealing and overexcited about it. But to her surprise, and Sansa’s credit, she simply nodded slowly and said: “I’m happy for you, Brienne, it’s a huge step. Your dad will love Jaime, I’m sure of it.” 

She deliberates over whether she should tell her father that Jaime is going, but eventually decides not to - he is an overthinker like her, and she knows that he would probably end up behaving quite unlike himself. 

_ Tender _ , she realises, is the feeling that she gets when there’s a physical touch between her and Jaime, and it’s the same feeling that strikes her when she looks at him struggling with seasickness on the ferry. He looks much unlike his usual self, a little pale and looking uncomfortable, and she softens as he leans into her side, not bothering with the pretences because he knows as well as she does that he’s definitely not in his zone. 

She wants to reach out, then, to hold him in an embrace, in the lower deck of the ferry, and reassure him that it’s alright and he can just lean on her as much as he wants. But she gets a glance out, and remembers the first time she had been on the ferry to King’s Landing, and she’d seen a small boy with his older sister, the younger child struggling with seasickness. The two kids had eventually found their way on the outside deck, and he was right as rain moments after, and she knows Jaime would probably be the same. 

She leads him out, holding his hand - it’s clammy and nothing like she remembers his strong fingers to be like as they wrap limply around the back of her hand - and they find their way to the stern. 

Jaime doesn’t startle when she says that her father doesn’t know that he was going to be around, and she wonders for a moment if it’s because he’s met countless fathers of his numerous girlfriends and this isn’t really much of a step, but she sees the broad smile that he breaks into, and suddenly that thought doesn’t really matter very much.

She insists that he doesn’t stay at the inn he’d booked a room at - it’s one of the larger establishments on the island, but also one of the oldest and poorly-maintained. 

“There’s no way you’re staying there,” she insists, and looks around the crowded pier where plenty of hotel staff are picking up their disembarking guests. “No, we’ve got a guest room, and I’m sure my dad would insist that you take it. Come on, he’s probably somewhere around with his truck.” 

Brienne quickly catches sight of a tall, broad man who can only be her father - while the islanders are generally well-built, Selwyn Tarth was one of the strongest on the island in his day and his frame was easily recognisable even in a crowd. 

“Dad, this is Jaime.” She’s slightly embarrassed as she realises that she has no idea how her father would react to meeting Jaime in person, hoping that he wouldn’t end up being overbearing and trying too hard to assert dominance. 

But they seem to hit it off easily enough, even though Jaime’s a bit more polite and overly formal, and her father teases the younger man. But he’s taken with him, Brienne realises, when he says: “I want to know everything about the man my daughter’s dating, you’re the first guy she’s introduced to me.”

Her first reaction is to nudge her father, but catches herself - _ perhaps Jaime should be the one to correct Dad, if that’s how he feels _ \- and she leaves it up to chance, or Jaime really, even though it’s not something she would have usually done. But it feels right, in this moment, even though it rarely does. 

She looks to their bags, casually left on the ground as the crowds have thinned out, but she can feel the heat of Jaime’s gaze on her skin. 

“I’m just a photographer. I drink too much coffee, mostly because Brienne’s such a good barista, and she’s the most special person I’ve ever met,” he says with all earnestness, and it forces her to look him in the eyes. 

“Then you have to promise me to take good care of her, son. She’s my only girl, and you best be worthy of her.” Selwyn doesn’t wait for a reply, and simply lets his statement simmer in the air, as he reaches for her larger bag and walks towards where he’d parked his truck. 

Brienne holds back a few steps, and takes a breath before she puts her hand on Jaime’s as he picks up his own bags. 

“My dad, he can be a bit…” She struggles to find the right words, and shrugs. “You get what I mean?”

“Brienne, it’s okay. All dads are protective of their daughters, and your father has more reason than most. I meant what I said, you are the most special person I’ve met.” Jaime pauses, and looks toward the truck, where her father is waiting.

“I want to be with you, Brienne. As more than friends.”

“You already are, Jaime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this, and thank you for sticking around :)


End file.
